Full text of "Canada monthly, November 1914-April 1915"

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CANADA
MONTHLY

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LONDON

With the Women Who WaTt' '

THE WORLD'S FIRST AC-
CREDITED WOMAN WAR
CORRESPONDENT HAS
WATCHED MEN SHED
BLOOD AND WOMEN SHED
TEARS — SURELY SHE
KNOWS WHERE PITILESS
WAR HITS HARDEST - 1

[By -Kit' |1

IT is not man only that War grips —
crushing the heart — but it is
Woman as well. Woman, the
non-fighter, the passive, the pati-
ent being. In time of war a burning
anxiety to be doing something seizes
her. It sets her to knitting socks,
night caps, wristlets. Every bone,
every nerve in her wants to help. The
whole sex, from the girl of sixteen, the
young mother brooding over her babes,
the single woman of forty and over, to
the grandmother, is simply a mother
now. There is nothing not sex —
though motherhood is the outlet of
sex for a woman — so strong in a
feminine creature as maternity. To
help "the boys," to keep them warm,
snug; then to kneel down and pray
for them — this is woman in war time.
When her mourning hour comes, few
will see her tears.

Not to many women has it come to
see blood shed in war time. It is not a
nice sight. Time accustoms the ear
to the sound of guns booming, to the
sound of cannonading, of explosions.
Just as we become accustomed to
hearing carts and cars rattle along the
streets so we may become accustomed
to hearing the crash of artillery. But
not all shot men die easily.

The writer — naturally not in woman's
apparel — once lodged in a trench in
company with a New York newsboy, a
little beggar who had "beat" his way
down on the Seguranca, the Comal —
but the name of the transport doesn't

CopyriskI, 1914, by the

matter. It was a queer lodgment and
an odd comradeship. But we saw
things. Better we had never seen
them. They will not bear description.
Such would affront you, harass you,
haunt you. Suffice it, the child and
the woman were trembling. Only in
the mind of the woman motherhood
was working. She had a little fellow
of her own, at home in Canada — a
small sturdy man, such as these grown
and ardent men were once to their
mothers.

In WartimeWoman' Mothers'

[Not Only Her Own but

All 'the Boys'

A man doesn't grow away from his
mother. He thinks he does, but she
knows otherwise. She sits silent, and
very proud, while he is out fighting —
making a position and a name for
himself in the big battle we call Life.
But let him ail, let him grow sick or
weak, and he — big and brawny and
fine — is just her baby again.

And this is how a woman feels
in war time. She mothers not only
her own, but all "the boys." From
fine house and little home alike the
women have knit their love with every
twist of the needle into the loops of
wool. Out in the country can the
farmer's wife or girl tell what lad will
be wearing the work of her hands ?
Does she care ? Not she. She is

VANDERHOOF-CUNN COMPANY. LTD. All

working for her boy. He may be
another's but he is hers for the hour.

In the Cuban-American war a prom-
inent member of the Daughters of
the Revolution told me that five thou-
sand pyjamas, each with a loving and
encouraging note in the breast pocket,
had been sent to the "boys in blue" at
the front. So far as I know not one
sleeping suit ever reached the men at
Santiago. Where they went I cannot
say. Perhaps to the Sisters' Hospital
at Key West; perhaps to Tampa. I
never saw, during three months' last-
ing, one soldier in anything but the
uniform he came down in, in May, and
which was glued to his back by blood
and sweat.

And the great want of the men
seemed to be food and tobacco. The
heavy kit was thrown away. The
Cuban negroes — for that is all they
were — followed calmly and picked
things up. It struck me then, as now,
that the things most needed for men
on the march are canned food in the
way of soup, or pemmican, and 'baccy.
I know that there are good ladies who
are averse to giving a chap a smoke.
But one can go too far with that sort
of notion. Were I a millionaire, or
half one, I would give my l^s.aJl they
wanted for a bit of smokfc'. "* •■■ •:/ , ,_

They make fun .of. a woman in' Jar.
They had their iojfe out with me h\
Cuba. It was an Englishman who
wrote his joke for, i think, the Londoh
Daily Mail. He rather laughed Ht

rights reserved ,■

the "woman-war correspondent" in
that lofty English way. He made
delightful fun of her. But I think,
she "beat him to it." At least one
never met him in Cuba and the news-
boy in the trenches knew nothing of
him. A lamed Cockney — how ever
did he get there ? — to whom one told
the story, merely remarked.

"'E worn't a pard, were 'e. Missus ?"
— Which consoled one.

Coming home on the transport
Comal, was not exactly heaven. The
men aboard were sick. The corres-
pondents were weary. So was the
woman. She, lucky individual, had a
whole stateroom to herself, with a
mattress, sans sheets, covers, towels.
And filled with cockroaches. The
food at the officers' and correspondents'
table was — rotten. More I dare not
say.

But, and this is war as the woman
who is writing saw it: —

E worn't a pard, were 'e, missus?

Therp v'as ^ big man aboard, one of
the •RcfygJi' -Riders. His chum and
pa>jV-;Ohe known .jyidely as "Bucky
Q^Nfeill," was shot-€)H the side of a hill,
a'Ad every day, thf&jjoor, shaken, big,
fin* fellow, would iVy amid his tears,

CANADA MONTHLY

his stifling groans, to tell how his
friend, whom later he went out to
rescue, had had "his eyes picked out"
by the baldheaded johnny crows of
the tropics. •

I thought then, as I think now, of
that verse in Revelation: "And I saw
an angel standing in the sun; and he
cried with a loud voice, saying to all
the fowls that fly in the midst of
heaven, 'Come and gather yourselves
together unto the supper of the great
God:

'That ye may eat the flesh of kings,
and the flesh of captains, and the flesh
of mighty men, and the flesh of horses,
and of them that sit on them, and the
flesh of all men, both free and bond,
both small and great."

And down there, down in Tampa
before the boys moved, it was the
baskets from the mothers and wives
and sisters at home that helped. Listen
to what a "little ofificer boy" said to
me. Maybe he
wasn't very grand
as to grammar, but
he was a fighting
man and a "good
■un:"

"It ain't no pic-
nic," said the boy
officer, in a plain-
ti ve voi ce. "I
tho ught it was
when I came, but
I'm getting that
drove right out of
me now. If it
wasn't for the
baskets our folks
send along, I don't
know what us
boys'd do."

"Do you really
get baskets ?"

"I guess we do;"
the young fellow's
face cheered up
wonderful ly.
"There's hardly a
day but some of
the fellows get stuff
from their mothers
or girls. At first
I couldn't eat ra-
tions at all, but
I'm gettin' over
that, and think fat
bacon and hard
tack are not so
bad after all. Of
course the good
things from home
help us out."

"Children," I said to myself, as I
bade good evening to the young fellow,
and turned away towards the Florida
lines, "just children, in spite of all
their guns and valour and eagerness.

God bless my soul, what a big part
women have to play in the world after
all: We have to mother them, the
poor boys of the world, from the cradle
to the grave."

War Brings Greater Anguish

to Those Who Can Only

"Sit and Knit"

And if one felt it then — the big
mothering heart stirring — what of it
now ? All women everywhere are
feeling it. The German haus-frau —
ah, think of her without news, waiting,
listening; the Frenchwoman, buoyant,
daring, and adorable, thinking of poor
brave and laughter-loving "Piou-
Piou." The women of Britain, silent,
patient, bearing women; the women
of Canada of the same grim, grand
old breed. Do not think for a mo-
ment that we sit at our ease. The
passive role is more difficult than the
active one. There are few of us
Canadian women, who would not
gladly gird ourselves for the fight to
hold together the mighty empire, now
warring to help those weaker than she
is; to guard the children, to do "big
things," to help put down a mad
Emperor.

Alas ! we can do nothing but sit
and knit !

But the spirit of patriotism bums
brightly throughout this wide Domin-
ion. You have heard no note of com-
plaint, no whining from the women.
They have given — God ! God ! what
have they not given ! The little maid
on your floor has delightedly given
her "quarter." The poor charwoman
has given her man, and her "quarter."
The old woman round the corner has
given the work of her weary old fingers.
Oh, but these are tributes. But the
greatest — the mother has given her
boy !

No one remembers how beautiful
once were the flowers in the garden;
how trimly kept the gravel walks;
how well cooked the joint, the fowl,
the fish for dinner, how well and
daintily laid the table; how well
minded through puling, crying nights
— the baby.

All woman's work — every hour and
all the time ! The little as well as the
big things.

And now we are forced to sit
quiet !

Last night in my home town there
came the blare of the bugle, I went to
the window. The boys in khaki were
marching. The street resounded to
the tramp of their feet. And I began
to cry. The drum seemed to be beat-
ing on a human heart —

And, oh believe me — I wept.

CANADA MONTHLY

.-'''V^i^'l.-

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m^-':

MY HEART BLEEDS I-OR LOUVAIN

Napoleon Wins

BEING THE STORY OF A REAL ESTATE

DEAL. A SUPER-EXTRA GRIN AND

A MAN WHO MADE GOOD ON

THE NAME OF NAPOLEON

By George Randolph Chester

Author of "A Smash in the Ear,"
Rich-Quick Wallingford," etc.

'Get-

Illustrated by C. M. Relyea

"WHY DADDY, POLE SMITH IS A REGULAR SURE-FOR- TRULY, CROSS-

MY-HEART, HOPE-TO-MY-DIE FELLOW," MARJORIE

ASSURED HIM

CAPTAIN HAMMOND passed
the gate of the modest Smith
residence at a good round clip,
for he had his usual scant
seconds to catch theeight twenty-seven.
An elastic step at his side suddenly
swung into perfect accord with his
heel and toe rhythm, and a young voice,
which nevertheless sounded like that of
a "regular man," bade him' a very
cheerful good morning. At that mo-
ment Captain Hammond was answer-
ing the morning mail which he had not
yet seen. The Eureka Iron Mills was
behind in its orders, and there would
be not less than eight fiery protests
from complaining customers. Without
looking around, he merely said, "Unh !"
' "Mr. Hammond, I want a job," was
the next remark of the voice. Captain
Hammond was just then answering
rsuppositious letter number six, which
-was about the worst of the lot; so he
-frowned and turned to find himself
looking slightly upward, straight into
the grin of young Napoleon Smith.

Now the grin of young Napoleon
-was the most infectious and ingratiat-
ing joy ever devised. Every feature of
his well-muscled face took part in it,
from his blue eyes to his white teeth.
It shot right at you; it warmed the
cockles of your heart; it made your
world a bright and a cheerful place to
live in, and it made you firmly believe
that whatever Napoleon Smith said or
did was just about right.

Meeting that grin. Captain Ham-
mond relaxed and smiled in spite of
himself.

"What can you do ?" he asked, look-
ing at young Smith again, this time
-critically and a little enviously, too;

for a clear, boyish
complexion and an
athletic body full of
good, sound nerves
are gifts which pass
with youth.

"Hustle," stated
young Smith in reply
to the question.

This time Captain Hammond laugh-
ed outright.

"That's the most valuable asset you
can own," he declared. "Your name's
Smith, isn't it ?"

Napoleon admitted that it was.

"How you kids do grow up !" said
the captainwonderingly, with a thought
of his own gray head.

The eight twenty-seven just then
whistled for Briarscot, and both men
started to run.

"Bless me," puffed the captain, when
they had plumped into a seat and were
speeding onward, "even golf don't
restore my wind. Do you golf ?"

"Not yet," replied Smith, shaking
his head and grinning.

Again Captain Hammond laughed.

"You're right that it's an old man's
game, after all; also it's a delusion and
a snare. Fat old men lose no weight
at it, and thin ones gain no muscle."

"But about that job ?" suggested
young Smith again.

"Oh, yes," said the captain, and un-
. consciously he frowned once more.
"I don't know of a thing at our place.
We're crowded with applications, but
I don't suppose those applicants are
all hustlers. You say you've had no
business experience at all ?"

"None that I care to tell about,"
replied the other, smiling reminiscently.
"All through college I served as a cor-
respondent for various papers, and
through vacations I worked on general
assignments on the World. It was a
good school. I met a lot of business
people in that way, and became ac-
quainted with a queer lot of business
methods. I could go to work on the
Herald now, but the occupation doesn't

seem to promise much of a future."

The captain nodded his head with a
jerk.

"Choosing a profession is like making
a wise investment," he said. "Not one
in a hundred succeed in picking the
right ones. I understand your father's
estate didn't cut up quite so well as
was expected ?"

"No," returned young Smith cheer-
fully. "It totaled to exactly nothing,
and nothing to carry. You don't think
then, that there is anything in your
place ?"

"Not just now," said the captain.
"However, I shall bear you in mind."

Napoleon arose and looked at the
captain and merely grinned.

"Pardon me," he said, "I see one of
the scouts of the Tribune up there; he
may know something," and he made
his vigorous way to the forward end
of the car.

II.

Captain Hammond strode into his
office and fired off his usual morning
question.

"Where's Bluffing ?" he demanded.

"Not down yet," said the girl of the
straw-colored hair, slightly worried.

The captain went into his usual
morning fit of temper, and in that
attitude pounced upon the letters of
complaint, of which fortunately he
found only four. Two of the answers
he tore up later in the day, for they
were undiplomatic. About half an
hour later, Bluffing, a young man with
a big straw hat and puffs under his
eyes strolled in, smoking a cigarette,
and, after a moment's deliberation,,
decided that he might as well work as
not.

"Mr. Bluffing," said the captain,
"I'd like to remind you that the
address of this office is 710 Green
Street, and that we look forward
with eager anticipation to the pleasure
of your society between the hours of
nine and twelve and one and five. If
those hours seem a trifle inconvenient
to you, you might state so in

CANADA MONTHLY

writing and I'll put the matter up to
the Board of Directors."

"Very sorry, Mr. Hammond," said

Bluffing, with a wink at the straw-

r haired girl. "You see, we got caught

^in a jam at "

"I don't give a continental what held
[you," responded Mr. Hammond,
i having just found a fifth complaint,
t which he had overlooked. "The point
I is that we want you here at nine o'clock,
with no excuse short of a broken leg."
On the second mail an excessively
large order soothed the captain some-
what, and at noon the arrival of a tall,
black-haired young lady with a color
in her cheeks which never came from a
chemist's shop, soothed him still more.
"I suppose you have a lot of old
business engagements for luncheon,
haven't you, daddy ? Now tell me
yes," she said.

"But I am going to tell you no,"
replied the captain, all smiles.

"Then," she informed him with a
mock courtesy, "I am going to allow
you to buy some eclairs and things for
a stunning young lady to whom you
may point with pride."

"By George, Margie," said the cap-
tain, now as gentle as any suckling
lamb, "how you have developed !
There is just a little bit of a pang in that
last remark of vours. Some of these

days it will be some
other fellow's place to
point with pride and
fill all other male
hearts with envy."

"Indeed !" she said
quite loftily. "Maybe
that time has already
come."

"Who's the fellow?"
he wanted to know,
with a genuine anxie-
ty which he carefully
attempted to con-
ceal.

"Oh, lots of them!"
she gayly returned.

"Oh !" he exclaim-
ed, much relieved.
"My 1 My ! My !
Margie, it only seems
yesterday that you
were a little bit of a
kid."

"You oughtn't to
remind me of it, dad-
dy, because while no
woman wants to be-
come old, it takes
such a long, long
time to grow up. And
while they may in-
dulge in fairy-tale
wishes, growing up is

indeed there s not room, declared rhxy.
I'm making love"

"GO AWAY, POLE SMITH.

"STOP YOUR BLATHERIN'. TERRANCE," SHE COMMANDED. "HURRY UP AN' FINISH THE BUSINESS
WITH THIS YOUNC. MAN. I LIKE THE CHEERFUL FA CB OF HIM"

the biggest thing that kids really want."

He laughed and closed his eyes for a
second.

"That's twice to-day I've remarked
how kids grow up," he said. "I had a
queer experience this morning with
young Smith, up in our suburb."

"Pole Smith ?" she inquired.

"Pole 1" he repeated.

"Yes; Napoleon, you know. We
called him Pole because he was such a
gangling, spindle-legged youngster
when we organized the Briarscot Tennis
Club. Since he's grown handsome he
doesn't like the name very much, so
we call it to him all the time.

"You know him pretty well, then ?"

"Why, he fairly haunts our front
porch ! Haven't you seen him there ?'

"No."

"Yes, you have, I know; but you're
a fine, trustful daddy, and you never
put a microscope on the young men I
bring around."

"How could I, Margie ?" he said,
clasping the hand which had rested
upon the edge of his desk. "How
could I, when in every speech and in
every action and in every thought you
are so nearly the image of your dear
mother ?"

"That's nice," she said, pulling his
ear. "I don't believe any of the young
men ever said a prettier thing; to me.
They're all nice-saying young men, too."

"What sort of a fellow is this_^Pole
Smith ?" he asked.

Continued on page 57.

The Case of

TIME, the present, is a barrier
developed by our inability to
see behind or ahead. When
we cease to be, we, the fussy,
foolish little snow-fort builders who
play that gold is to be striven for,
kings are to be obeyed, Paris is to be
taken, then Time will cease also among
the rest of the illusions and from rim
to rimof Eternity what has been, will
be what is; and what is to be,
will be the inescapable resultant of
both.

You've read about God, perhaps,
and a Great White Throne and Books
to be opened? If it were not so
written, it would in any case have to
be. Else how should Kaiser Wilhelm
II., who never stepped foot in Canada,
come to know about — and to pay for
- — the case of Margie Fiske?

Nineteen years ago when the War-
lord was planning to get Heligoland
and build the Kiel Canal, to smash
England on the sea and ram his bay-
onet down the hot throat of Paris,
Margie lay under Ontario appletrees
because her mother'd put her on her
back and she hadn't yet found out
how to crawl.

To-day, the Kaiser had the island
and the canal. He also thought he
had Paris. And Margie, sitting out
on a park bench, had her last paycheck.
Generally speaking, Margie was all
big blue eyes and a grin. She could
also do the maxixe with the gum-wad
she kept under the edge of Fulton-
Mackenzie and Co.'s typewriter desk
better than any of the seventeen
Pitmanettes in her department. Margie
herself had no shorthand since she
had never dug up the money nor
the ambition to study. She just did
the invoices that the office slapped
on her desk from eight-thirty to six.
And when they were done, she grinned.
You can smile just because you're a
girl. But you've got to have a sense
of humor under your tango twist to
know enough to grin.

Margie Fiske

EVERY GIRL WHO TRAMPS THE GRIM PAVED STREETS

LOOKING FOR WORK KNOWS ALL ABOUT MARGIE. SOME

BY BITTER EXPERIENCE, SOME BY INTUITION

By Betty D. Thornley

Illustrated by Helen A. Haselton

But there was no grin now.

Five weeks ago "They" had declared
War. Margie hadn't followed the
career of the Kaiser either before or
since. She just knew that there were
newsboys. And bands. And autos
with flags — she had bought one for a
dime. And Dick from the Billing
was in the Q. O. R.

It was all very exciting and a little
shivery. But it didn't distract in the
least from the pleasure of the new
$10.50 black velvet peach of a hat
with the dead-white flowers that she
couldn't afford — and bought of course
— out of her eight a week. Neither
did it injure the taste of the cocoa she
and Beryl made on their one-burner
oilstove and served to the
two boys who sat on two
steamer trunks in their one-
room "flat."

"You'll be hearin' of the
War first thing you know,"
Fred had said only last night.
Fred was Beryl's cousin and
a steady at the flat. "Some-
body told me the Fulton-
Macks were goin' to drop a
few thousand men. You
girls'd have nothin' to do
but visit."

"Gee," sighed Beryl,
"wouldn't that be the fun !
Wisht Mr. Graham'd enlist.
Of all the crazy, cross — ■ — "

And so on into office gossip
which is quite as thrilling as
the society kind, and apt
to be truthfuller.

Next day was pay day,
always a roseate dream and
a bad fulfiller. Eight dollars
looked so big and green and
crackly in prospect, and so
hanged little when you went
to pay for one of those new
capes, or a fall suit, or even
a swell pair o' pumps and a
veil.

But this pay-day —

Margie shivered in the late summer
twilight as she recalled it. She could
hear Miss Wallace yet.

"I'm sorry. Miss Fiske, but you see
the firm's slack and so — ■"

Yes. And so — ■. Double pay. The
Fulton-Macks were good through every
inch of their church-going souls, but
you couldn't keep a bunch of steno-
graphers when you'd just dropped
seven and a half millions in first pay-
ments due on goods shipped to three
hell-blazing European countries, could
you ? They'd cut three thousand five
hundred men from their factory pay
roll and they'd dropped twenty in the
office. It was all perfectly fair and
necessary, granted the Kaiser. But

IKV ^LO\\i,^ SlIK \\ALkt;U HOMK THRULGH THE DUsK,
TRYING TO REARRANGE HER VIEWS OF LIFE

CANADA MONTHLY

it was infernally hard on Margie.

She had turned away dazed. Last
night Fred and — and the other man,
had discussed one's chances of landing
another job under present abnormal
conditions of the labor market. To
be sure, the other man had been hold-
ing Margie's hand as he talked, and
words don't carry a very clear signi-
ficance, when one's brain is busy else-
where. But she had gathered enough
to be jolly glad the gum-
wad under Desk Three was
her gum-wad.

And now —

Yes, they might need
her back. Say in six
months, if Kitchener held
heaven on his side. But
■even at that, what was a
girl to live on with nothing
.a week, and five owing on
her hat, and Beryl, also
jobless, going home to
Woodstock to her mother ?

That brought back the
stingingest memory of all,
the horrible haunting thing
that had sent her out un-
der the trees to think.

Margie had met — him
— outside the office, drop-
ping in with his samples.
For even if half the stafT
"was to be dismissed, the
Test woukd need carbon
paper.

"Hello, Marg !" The'd
said, with the quick light-
•ening ot his eyes that filled
her cheeks with blazing
-color and sent the blood
pounding into her brain.

She had managed to tell
him about the lost job.
He'd whistled. Told her
to wait a jifTy. Disap-
peared behind the glazed

-door and come out again. i.

Then they'd gone for a
walk.

God ! how it hurt.

She remembered that she had hesi-
tated, stammered, hated herself for
her doubts. He had been so very out-
spoken about his love all summer and
-so strangeily reticent about its future.
But now, in view of this tumbling to
pieces of her financial universe, she
just had to know.

So, with the queer directnesss that
she'd got from some U. E. Loyalist
north-trekking ancestor, she finally
asked him, straight out, when it would
be. Even then — heaven help her — he
had not understood.

"Marry you ?" he had said at last,
bewilderment, incredulity in his tone,
"but I don't want to marry anybody,
kid ! Did I ever say I did ? Honest,
you're a good little pal, you know, but
.a man like me can't afford to keep a

wife. Love you ? Of course I do.
And I know you're straight too, but I
don't want to tie up anywhere. I'm
only twenty -four and I've got my place
to make."

They were walking down King
Street, but Margie didn't hear the
clang of the street cars, nor the hand-
organ grinding out the Miserere. She
j ust heard Beryl's voice as they'd looked
into the bureau drawer last night.

IN THE MEANTIME SHE COULD GO TO HER ROOM AND TRY ON
THE LAST maid's CAP

"Say, Marg, ot all the swell lonjree!
Honest, I never knew you could sew
till you was engaged."

Yep. She'd told her that. Mar-
gery had been brought up in the
country and she was unsophisticated
enough to think — poor little blue eyes —
that when a man told a girl, a good
girl, that he loved her, when he came
night after night and taught her to
love him till the world held nothing
else, that then of course he meant
orange blossoms, and a wedding ring,
and other things too shyly holy to
even think about.

She had got away somehow without
letting him see. Or did he see and
just not care ? Anyhow, she wouldn't
risk being at home to-night in case he
came. Beryl would say she had a

headache. If she were home and
heard his voice she would go to him
of course. She knew that. So she'd
stay under the trees.

Far away there was a band playing
"O Canada." They were drilling,
those excited boys. Well, that was
easy. It was something doing any-
how, something to look forward to.
A bullet in your brain was better than
an ache in your heart. Margie spread
her little thin left hand
out on her black skirt.
There 'd never be a wed-
ding ring there now.

The clock tolled ten.
He'd have come by this
time, found Beryl at her
packing and gone away.
She could go home. Be-
yond that, she had no idea.
All the offices were cutting
down their staffs and the
factories were turning
away 1 old ^ hands. Miss
Wallace I had suggested
service but, like most in-
dependent young Cana-
dians, Margie resented in-
vitations to use the back-
door and entertain friends
in the kitchen. Besides,
she had her double en-
velope. Even with the
hat money out, that left
eleven dollars. And the
rent was paid for two
weeks longer. She could
live a long time on eleven
dollars if she was careful
Very slowly she'walkej
home .

trying *o rearrange he
views of life. There was
just Margie, now — no little
home with a window-box
and a canary and a kitten
like she'd had long ago m
the country, no shadowy
Somebody to cook for an<i
to tidy up after. There
wasn't even any soul-
numbing office to go to to-morrow.
And some other girl would find the
gum.

"Did he come ?" she asked Beryl,
bending over toward the mirror so's
her roommate wouldn't see.

"Yeh," said that lady, still stuffing
shoes and blouses and picture post-
cards into her trunk, "he was some
mad too, believe me. He wanted to
come in and see if you was sick like I
said but I wouldn't let him. What'd
you quarrel about ?"
"Nothing," said Margie.
Beryl was going to-morrow and
needn't know. Thank heaven that
little bit of humiliation was spared.

Next morning Margery went down
to the Union to see her friend off.
When you've no job you might's well.

"Write first ?"

"No, you write first."

"No, you. I wanta know about
you an'- — you know — "

On her way uptown Margie bought a
paper and took it to the Slossons' Rest
Room. She didn't read the war. She
had never thought of herself as a
victim. She merely looked over the
want ads.

Housemaids — cook — housemaid —
nursemaid — school teacher — dining-
room girl — ha, there you are, sJiirt-
waist operator ! Can't afford to be
finicky, Margery. How about that ?

"Are you experienced ?" the fore-
man asked.

"No."

"Well, we don't want no green
hands, let me tell you. There's mil-
lions of 'em here in Toronto. You
wasn't in a factory before, was you ?"

"No, office work," she said.

"Well, you won't get that, nor
factory work neither. It's my belief
that we'll have a power o' trouble this
winter. Hope to God it ain't as cold
as last."

He was kind. He wante'd to help.
But he couldn't. Margie tried to say
that over and over to keep the tears
from dripping on the trim black suit.

It began to rain. She tried the
corset factory, the shoe factory, even
the carpet works where you went at
7.30 and started at two and a half a
week. Nobody wanted a green hand.
Margie went home, bought half a
pound of chocolates out of sheer lone-
someness and spent the evening look-
ing out at the drizzle and crying for
Beryl and —

"No !" said Margie fiercely, "I'm
not crjang for him. I hate him 1 I
hate him !"

Late that night there was a knock
on the door.

"A gentleman to see you downstairs."

"Tell him I'm sick," said Margery.

All the next day the little shoes
tramped Toronto. Margie was wary
of spending an unnecessary nickel by
this time. One office had advertised
for a stenographer but when she got
there she was told she was the fifteenth
although it was only ten o'clock. Be-
sides, she hadn't her shorthand, you
know, even though she was desperate
enough by this time to chance bluffing it.

A little later in the day she found
herself on the well-remembered road
to Fulton Mackenzie's. Maybe Miss
Wallace would know of something.
In the old far-away, gum-chewing
days, Margie had rather despised Miss
W. for a sharp-featured, sharp-witted
old maid whoM got to the top of the
office but couldn't get a man. When
she reached the door she found a lump
in her throat. Miss Wallace looked
so good, and the typewriters all click-
ing sounded homey. If they'd only

CANADA MONTHLY

take her on again at five or even four-
fifty, she'd try to live on it.

"No, I can't," said Miss Wallace.
Her eyes were very kind behind her
glas.ses. But then, so were the eyes
of the shirtwaist foreman and the girl
at the corset factory. They all wanted
to help. But they were being crushed
themselves.

"This war, you know," Miss Wallace
went on, "we're letting three more
girls go next week."

Letting them go ! Margie's ears
took in the irony of it. As though
they wanted to leave ! She wondered
as she looked at the sleek heads, which
ones of the girls would don their un-
paid-for hats for the last time next
Saturday.

"Haven't you any home, Miss
Fiske ?"

"No, Miss Wallace — that is, father's
out on the farm but he married again
and there's five children anyhow with-
out me."

The one-time tyrant nodded sym-
pathetically. She knew.

She took Margie's address. Would
let her know if she heard of anything.
But she was afraid —

That night Margie made her decis-
ion. Back door or no back door, she'd
go into service.

She tried the first place, without the
faintest suspicion 'that she wouldn't
be taken.

"Can you cook ?"

"No'm — that is— well, I haven't
cooked much lately."

The lady's face softened. Most
people's faces did soften when they
looked at Margie. She was so very
pretty and of late there was such a
pathetic little droop to her kissable
mouth.

"Have you ever been in service,
dear ?"

"No'm," said Margie again, "I was
in the office at Fulton Mackenzie's.
But I can't do shorthand, just type,
and I haven't been able to get another
place."

The lady had a thought-wave from
somewhere to the effect that she ought
to ask this pretty child right in and
give her a cup of tea, but she was late
for the Red Cross meeting anyhow^
and if the 48th didn't get the house-
wives that she was to make, who'd
sew on the buttons when the Kaiser
shot them off ?

So Margie went slowly down the
steps again and tried four more places
before dark.

That night there was a note on the
hatrack and later a second announce-
ment of a gentleman in the parlor.
But Margie said, "Now I lay me down
to sleep" until she heard the front door
slam.

It was a week later that she landed
a job. She had thirty-three cents in

her purse and her shoes were worn
out and she hadn't answered Beryl's
letter. But she could look into her
owTi eyes in the tiny cheap little
mirror and know that if her mother
had lived, she could have gone to her
with her head up.

They had taken her at this last
house even though she couldn't cook,
They were to give her twelve a month,
two nights a week and every second
Sunday afternoon. There were no
children.

The girl who had engaged her was
little older than Margie herself. And
she wasn't pretty at all. But she
was an M. A. and she taught Trigo-
nometry for a living, which is nine-
teen storeys above making pies. She
was Miss Harrington and her sister
was Miss Etta and her aunt was
another Miss Harrington. Margiecould
consider herself a lucky girl. She
could read Mr. Harrington's theological
books if she wanted to and sit in the sit-
ting-room if there was no one else there.

I'n the meantime she could go to
her room — via the back stairs — and
try on the last maid's cap.

It was a tiny room, so short that
the little bed and the littler radiator
filled its length, and so narrow that
it had just space for a washstand and
Margie's steamer trunk. There was
no bureau and no clothes cupboard
though the schoolteacher Miss Harring-
ton, who was never at home except
during the holidays, had a whole
inviolable chamber to herself and so
of course had the other two ladies.

The walls had been papered years
ago when the Harrington taste ran
to red chrysanthemums on a blue
ground. Successive maids had punched
holes in this doubtful decoration
tacking up and taking down their
successive picture postcards. The one
ornament that remained, like Mt.
Robson above the clouds, was a faded
purple motto with silver lettering
that hung above the hard little bed.

"Sweet Rest In Heaven!" read
Margie, but she was too tired to laugh,
and the old grin had somehow got
packed into Beryl's trunk.

She went downstairs at last, fiercely
conscious of the tiny badge of ser\-itude
on her head, only to be confronted by
the Trigonometry Miss Harrington.

"We've been without a maid for
the past week, Margery," she said,
not unkindly, " and the dishes have —
er — accumulated. You'd better do
them before dinner."

"Accumulated! I should say they
had," said Margie under her breath,
surveying a cluttered sink and littered
table, the tea leaves spilled on the
floor. The air was stale with frj'ing
and every saucepan in the house had
been used. Some of them were burnt
beyond recall.

"Would it be possible to make my-
.self a cup of tea first, Miss Harring-
ton?" the new maid asked meekly.
She didn't explain that she had had
no lunch and such a supposition never

■occurred to her employer.
"No, Margery," said Miss Harring-
|ton, with as good an imitation of her
iaunt's manner as she could achieve,
"I don't believe in allowing the maids
to eat between meals. English girls
are proverbially wasteful of tea and
this is War time. But then you aren't
English are you?"

Margery didn't answer.
"Don't talk, don't talkl" she said to
herself fiercely, "you're a maid, remem-
ber, and maids shouldn't make tea nor
answer back."

By the time the dishes were done,
Margie was too tired to be the deft-
handed assistant that Miss Etta ex-
pected in getting the dinner. Miss
Etta was goodhearted, but she was

CANADA MONTHLY

just a schoolgirl. She'd never lived
nor loved nor had a friend nor made
an enemy. Consequently, she just
didn't understand. She thought the
new maid sullen because of her white
face and her silence, and when she
dropped the salad dressing into the
cream, Miss Etta said something about
untrained girls and twelve a month
that brought a hot flush to Margie's
cheeks.

She waited on table in a haze of
weariness, bewilderment and anger.
Of course she made mistakes and
equally of course it was irritating just
when Miss Harrington had her friend
from Vassar who knew all the forks
from here to Boston. What neither
Margery nor her employers realized
in full, was the War-time, out-of-work
tension that had complicated the new
maid's initiation into her new place.

By the time dinner was over, every-
thing was cold but Margery. She

was blazing, physically and mentally,
and she couldn't eat anything. She
drank a cup of tepid tea, washed the
dishes mechanically, and then, although
it wasn't her evening out, she went up-
stairs and put her hat on. She took
a long look at herself in the cheap
mirror and went out, taking the key
of her flat.

She didn't know how many hours
she'd been sitting on the park bench
when a man dropped into place beside
her.

"Lord, kid, but it's good to see you,"
he said with the old lightening of his
eyes that sent all the blood in the
girl's body pounding into her brain,
"you've been side stepping me lately,
haven't you? Honest now, where've
you been and who's the new he?"

For a moment Margie didn't speak.
The man's arm slid along the back of
the seat.

Continued on page 69.

Fraulein

THE CANADIAN CELT, THE GERMAN SPY AND

THE SCOTLAND YARD DETECTIVE MEET

IN WARTIME LONDON

WHEN the good Lord made the
Celt, He made him to fight
and to dream, to think with
his heart, to spend from his
soul, and to feel with every inch of
him.

But the good Lord knew that Ireland
and the Hielands would never make
Britannia rule the waves, since he is an
unwonted Irishman who can make
Pat rule himself unless he has some
extra-special, revival-service, call-to-
arms reason for it.

So the good Lord added England
and peopled it with a race that the Celt
may admire, may analyze, may lead —
but never conquer — a strange mad
race no Celt will ever understand,
because, the angrier they get, the cooler
they grow; the hotter the fire, the
steadier they are; the bluer the war-
news, the greater the demand for after-
noon tea.

Canada isn't Celtic to be sure, but
neither is she Anglo-Saxon, in the
strict sense, what with her dash of
HiberniaandtheHighlands, her piquant
French admixture, and her strain of
tang and slang and let-'er-go-bang from
south of the Great Lakes. Therefore
Canada, when inoculated with the
war- feel, takes herself, her responsibili-
ties and her newspapers quite differ-
ently from the fashion set in Piccadilly

and expounded in those North and
South Poles of the English literary
world. Punch and the Times.

These are the back-home-again re-
flections of a girl with grey-blue Done-
gal eyes and hair black like a smuggler's
night. This summer she went to
England from her Ontario home to see
pictures and hear grand opera and
admire, as much as she could, a race
aloof, patronizing, conventional-
minded.

Instead, August second sizzled itself
off the calendar before she had taken
her return passage and she had a
chance to see the English nation at its
supreme best.

"I can't give you any idea of the
tremendous quietness of the war feel-
ing," she told her friend who had
never been east of New York. "It's
utterly different to the Canadian way
of taking things. There's a non-
chalance about it that isn't stoicism
nor theatricality, but just a serene
sort of belief that Kitchener and
Tommy Atkins are in charge, so why
worry ? Perhaps it's rooted in the
deepest characteristic the English have
— and the most un-Celtic — their in-
grained conservatism. Britannia al-
ways has ruled the waves. Therefore,
quite without fuss, Britannia always
will."

There isn't any ferocity towards the
Germans. In those strange solemn
prayer-meetings in St. Paul's — St.
Paul's with guards — the men who come
in overwhelming numbers, join in
prayers even for the Kaiser. They
consider him a world-menace to be
sure, a thing to be put out, like a
prairie fire. But they don't hate him,
and they're willing to take six months
or a year or even longer to make him
see reason.

There is absolute concentration of
thought without any trace of that
psychic tension, which would be un-
English and undignified. A nation
that will suffer fools gladly — even to
the suffragette— that will allow every
ism in the census report to mount £l
Sunday soap box and harangue a
Hyde Park crowd, that will per-
mit a blue-coated bobby to listen
grinningly while a wild-haired orator
to-hells his King— such a nation isn't
going to get excited over a twentieth
century attempt to revive a Moyen
Age Empire. It crushed Napoleon.
It will also crush William.

Canadienne had lived in Bedford
Square since early spring, a wonderful,
green-over-England spring that she
hadn't seen except in the faint beckon-
ing blue between tall houses when
there was no mist. The German con-

sulate was at the end of the block, but
even her Irish-keen intuitions hadn't
warned her of the crowd that would
presently jam the street, humming
"Deutschland, Deutschland, li b e r
Alles."

"Nobody thought even the week
before that we'd be in it," she said
turning the bronze Liberty necklet
between her slim fingers, "the Kaiser
had shaken hands with the King over
King Edward's coffin; he was a British
admiral; he had made visits and over-
tures again and again. To be sure,
Lord Roberts had warned us and so
had Kipling, but the Englishman isn't
imaginative, you know. He doesn't
see Destiny till she comes round the
corner."

That he did not, shows perhaps not
so nfiuch the depth of Anglo-Saxon
stupidity as the height of Anglo-Saxon
self-confidence. London was full of
eyes— paid German eyes. The press
said so, Scotland Yard knew so. They
could name-and-address them for you.
But the man in the street who had
Nelson and Wellington and Kitchener
on the walls at home, simply read,
believed or disbelieved according to his
fancy for the print publishing the
rumor, after which he promptly forgot
all about it.

"It was the Friday before the de-
claration that I definitely suspected
Fraiilein," said Canadienne.

Fraiilein had come to the boarding
house in May. She was twenty-three,
she said. She had fair hair, blue trust-
ful eyes and a passion for study. Her
Hanover Varsity couldn't give her the
satin finish she wanted, so she was pre-
paring to plug her way into a seventh
heaven of bluestockingdom by three
months' study at London University,
followed by an equal period at Oxford
and another in Paris. The subject was
to be Seventh Century Manuscripts.

"I remember when she came first,"
said Canadienne, "Mrs. Dunham al-
ways introduced newcomers, but she
couldn't do much for Fraiilein be-
cause she didn't speak English. I
saw her sitting over on the other side
of the drawing room and as I was look-
ing at her, the big tears welled up into
her eyes. Later I found that she could
manage this little stage play whenever
she wished. But at the time I thought
she was homesick and I was all com-
passion. My German was three years
out of school, but I went over, sat on
the arm of her chair, and tried to talk
to her."

She was so pleased and so grateful
that Canadienne offered to take her
sight-seeing. She had never been in
London before, she said.

On the streets she was dazed. The
English were so strange, their language
was so difficult —

The third or fourth expedition had

CANADA MONTHLY

as its objective an art gallery. Cana-
dicnne's stock of Vaterland-talk wasn't
technical. She managed a paragraph
or two and then stuck.

"You do not mean that, you mean
this !" cried Fraiilein excitedly, shak-
ing her yellow head, and before Can-
adienne had quite realized it, the con-
versation was being conducted in
Shakespearian English!

The screw-looseness of the situation
struck both girls at once. Fraiilein
laughed uproariously and declared she
had played so good a joke on her
friend. Yes, she could speak English,
had studied it since she was ten.

A little later, her unexpected knowl-
edge of the right turn to take in a part
of the city she had just said she had
never seen before, led her to the inevit-
able admission ' that this wasn't her
first visit to London. She had been
only joking.

When one of the other members of
the household, who was an illuminator,
showed a disposition to talk Seventh
Century Manuscripts to the girl who
was studying them, she became strange-
ly reticent. It had certainly seemed
a safe choice but the way of the trans-
gressor is sometimes unexpectedly com-
plicated.

"Fraiilein seemed to know the most
extraordinary number of men," Can-
adienne said. "There was a Parsee sup-
posed to be at the University, there
was an Englishman whom none of us
liked, and there were two German
officers in the house, besides ever so
many others who came once and no
more. Still, it wasn't till she returned
from a trip to Bisley and told us she
had staid with the Cavendishes whom
we knew were in America, that we be-
gan to compare notes and come to the
conclusion that she was something
worse than a constitutional liar."

On the Friday before war was de-
clared, Fraiiieirt stopped for her mail
before going out. A thin strip of
paper fluttered to the floor from the
first envelope cut, a draft for a thou-
sand marks. Fraiilein didn't see Can-
adienne in the drawing room doorway.
She was too intent on her mail.

The efTect of the letter was electrical.
First she whistled, a long low note of
surprise that flowered into a delighted
laugh.

"At last, at last ! Mein Gott, it is
so !"

Then she sped up the street to the
consulate.

Apparently other joke-playing Ger-
mans had had billets-doux from their
chiefs of staff, for the road had begun
to fill up.

There was the officer from Fraiilein's
own house, singing "Deutschland" and
exulting openly. There was his friend
who always seemed busy yet had no
office and no hours. There, too, were

selections from that eighty-five per
cent, of London's waiters who hailed
from Prussia and its environs.

"Until Tuesday you couldn't pass
for the mob," said Canadienne, "jab-
bering, cheering, calling for the consul,
dashing up in taxis, and dashing off
again. I don't believe you could get
such a scene anywhere else in the
world, a jam of the enemy right in the
very heart of one's own city, and
nothing done to prevent their making
all the noise .they wanted ! There
were two or three policemen around
but they didn't attempt to do any-
thing with the crowd that never left
by night or by day, and thinned out
only at mealtimes."

Incompetence ? Not on your life J
Just sheer, amazing British self-con-
fidence. There were torn German
extras all over the road, there was
Berlinese bedlam from sidewalk to
sidewalk, but there was also Sir Edward
Grey in the Foreign Office and Scot-
land Yard at its usual stand and if it
amused Fraiilein to cheer herself
hoarse, let her cheer.

The boarding house didn't see its
three Germans except at the end of
breathless taxi-rushes. The officer was
summoned to his regiment. Yet he
was leaving all his belongings save his
latchkey.

"Why do I take it ? Oh, I shall be
back presently, in a week or two," he
said airily, "and then, I shall need it."

Paris in four weeks — London in six.
That's what he meant. He was as
sure that the Kaiser would be review-
ing his troops in Hyde Park as he was
certain that there was no need to pay
his five weeks' arrears-board to a poor
fool who would soon have to quarter
him for nothing.

The outrush of waiters changed
many a high priced restaurant into a
cafeteria. Friedrich from the board-
ing house staff also sought the colors,
nineteen and keen to fight his friend
the Swiss at the next table. By the
time the order was issued commanding
all Germans to register, there was no
one left but Hans who had told the
consul that he was under age and flat-
footed. Fraiilein had taxied out of
sight with the Parsee, leaving her
luggage to be called for.

Then one morning, a plainclothes
Sherlock from Scotland Yard visited
the agitated landlady.

"You've had two German officers
here," he said genially. "They have
been in London so long. They have
done thus and so. They have now
rejoined their regiments."

Whereupon he added details that no
one in the house had ever dreamed of,
demanding in return the papers of the
careless Prussians who were so sure of
returning.

"You've also had a German woman,"

CANADA MONTHLY

i^upyri^n* imernaiwnal l^ews Hervice,

PEOPLE LEAVING THE BANK OF ENGLAND AFTER THE INCREASE IN RATES

went on the plainclothes Law. "She
was the daughter of a sugar-refiner in
such and such a place. She says she is
twenty-three but in reality she is
twenty-six. This is her third visit to
England. She was supposed to be
studying Seventh Century Manuscripts
at London University."

The boarding house mistress was one
series of "hows" and "whys" and
"wherever-did-you-get-its."

The detective wouldn't say. Fraii-
lein had been known about since she
came to London. Of course. Why
did one suppose Scotland Yard was
there ?

Why had they not apprehended her
before ?

Why should they ?

Having satisfied himself that the
eyes-that-had-come-to-see had really
turned into the tongue-gone-home-to-
report, the Law departed, leaving a
shaken house who no longer wondered
that 1,100 policemen could take care of
6,000,000 Londoners, if they were all
up to the startling specimen just seen
from the Yard.

After having rid itself of undesir-
ables by the simple method of leaving
them alone, the city settled down to
war-time rule.

People left the Bank of England when
the increase of rates was announced.
The crowd tore down the consul 's eagles,

just the necessary once. After that, it
betook itself to Buckingham Palace and
for four unbridled nights in a line, it
cheered the King, the Queen and the
Prince of Wales, who appeared on the
balcony after dinner. This proceeding,
however, struck the English mind as
undignified and, by Royal request, was
discontinued.

Every public building in town was
watched and guarded as were the rail-
roads and the bridges; the entrances to
the Post Office and the Telegraph Build-
ings and the nearby subway stations
were protected with expanded steel
netting; boy scouts slipped through
the streets with messages; soldiers
marched all the time, to drill in the
parks and the church-yards, to entrain
at the stations.

Scarcely a head turned. Nobody
cheered. The call to arms had been
given, had been obeyed. What else
would one expect ?

A likely-looking horse trotted down-
street in his delivery shafts. A plain-
clothesman held up his hand. The
driver stopped, dismounted, unhitched.
What if Madame's butter was late
for lunch ? Her country needed
horses.

Motor busses that used to bowl
along through London, mysteriously
disappeared from their accustomed
haunts. Rumor has it that the French

peasant thereafter learned all about
the merits of Pear's Soap from their
flaunting sides, and read for the first
time of Peek Frean's Biscuits and
Johnny Walker's Whiskey when they
came to rest to discharge cargoes.
Private motor trucks were also com-
mandeered, turned into vehicles of
wizardry, soldier-driven, and bound no
one knew where.

All the shops gave at least a window
to khaki uniforms. The assistants
within knitted for dear life at army
socks, and when they went home at
night, they worked away at the bis-
cuit-colored flannel the English Red
Cross has declared suitable for pyjamas.
The pinks and blues and flowery hues
of the Canadian offering will look
frivolous in comparison, but perhaps
the Mother Country will recognize our
Celtic enthusiasm and our Gallic ex-
uberance, and let it go.

The censorship is unexampled and
awe-inspiring. A girl in Canadienne's
boarding house received a letter from
her sister in Russia. All names of
places were obliterated.

Trains rushed north and south with
blinds down. Russians from Arch-
angel ? No, for there was the official
denial. Yes, for the Russian who sold
greens to the boarding-house had seen
and talked with his own cousin.

A neighborhood would go to bed

watching the barracks' lights winking
across the street. They would wake up
to find the place deserted save for an
impassive sentry or two.

London shows no electric signs these
days, no fringe of Stardust atop her
streets. The vessel that steals out of
Liverpool blankets her portholes.

And yet, all this, all the wonderful,
trained, tense activity of it, and never
a bit of worry or hurry or the missing
of a single cup of tea !

"A German in Montreal showed a

CANADA MONTHLY

friend of mine a pink slip two years
ago," said Canadienne, putting on the
black velvet bit of modishness that the
West End called a hat. "That slip told
him just where he was to report in the
event of war with England. Germany
has known a long time ahead and she
has been absolutely confident of vic-
tory."

But the blatant me-and-Gott con-
fidence that provided Fraiilein with
a thousand marks, that made the
officer go home minus his receipted

board-bill but plus his latchkey, that
poured greygreen hordes across a
neutral border," that burned cathedrals
and bayonetted old men and little
children — that isn't the sort of con-
fidence that wins a long heartracking
war. It isn't the English kind of con-
fidence, that is steady enough to shoot
without shouting, that is high enough
to plunge an Empire into blood for a
"scrap of paper," and lowly enough to
kneel before the Judge of all the Earth
in St. Paul's, confessing its sins.

Doc Lambert's Second Choice

By Samuel E. Kiser

Illustrated by G. Tyson

SOURED. Such was the condition of Doc. Lambert.
He had tried life and found it guilty. Existence
was a thing that he bore with ill-concealed im-
patience. He felt that it had been unjustly thrust
upon him.

Some men would have
considered themselves
lucky if they had been
in Doc's place, for he
was neither a beggar
nor a cripple. More-
over, he had a job that
wasn't half bad, and he
was under no moral
obligation to support a
family.

It was rumored that
he had once had a
mother, but the report
may have been un-
founded. Doc was a
woman-hater. Long be-
fore he became con-
nected with Barton,
Swift & Co., a woman
had caused him to be-
come a misanthrope, a
cynic, a misogynist, a
pessimist and almost an
outcast. That was when
he was a handsome
young doctor of divini-
ty. It was the old
story. Doc never would
speak of it, but we
picked up the particu-
lars here and there and
got possession of enough
of the facts to piece out a fairly complete account of
the matter.

The woman, it appeared, had made a mess of his
career merely to satisfy her vanity. If she had ever

•IF I WEKlt YOUR WIFB. I'D GIVE YOU SOMBTHIKG BBSIDI SUICIDE TO THINK ABOUT

cared for him she denied it when he had need of her sym-
pathy and affection. She put all the blame on him and
he, being a gentleman, made no effort to let the truth
be known. He assumed entire responsibility for the

scandal when it came
out, the result being
that he was expelled
from his church and
ostracised by society,
while she, claiming to
have repulsed his ad-
vances and to have
been innocent of any
effort or desire to pro-
mote his infatuation,
was permitted to retain
her husband and her
respectability. Such is
the price the privileged
sex is sometimes compel-
led to pay for its privi-
lege.

Doc was essentially
an extremist. When he
quit the ministry he
burned all his bridges
behind him. In addition
to casting away his faith
in God he became an
advocate of artistic self-
destruction.

Barton, Swift & Co.
had engaged him as a
writer of prospectuses,
a line of endeavor in
which he exhibited won-
derful ability. He could
write a prospectus that

would cause people to beg for the privilege of mvesting
their money; but be it remembered that .he never did
this with any desire to swindle or mislead. It was merely
his way of pursuing art for art's sake.

CANADA MONTHLY

When he became identified with our
establishment he was about fifty-five
\ears old, though no one would have
guessed that he was more than forty.
He possessed a splendid physique, his
abundant hair was but slightly tinged
with gray, and he would have been
handsome still if it had not been for
his constant frown.

At first we found it a little difficult
to adjust our emotions to Doc's habits
of speech. He would
speak of suicide as
one ordinarily speaks
of music or painting
or poetry. In his
estimation suicide
was an art.

"Oh," he would
say, "there are people
who bungle suicide
just as there are those
who bungle music
and make daubs on
canvases and write
atrocious verses.
Suicide is a matter
that requires study,
even as music and
painting and poetry
demand it. It is, in
fact, the very highest
of all the arts, for
one must be truly
inspired in order to
achieve distinction in
it. That cannot, in
the nature of things,
be accomplished
through mere prac-
tice."

We were given to
understand that he
lived on, not from
choice, but because
he was waiting for the
inspiration that he
considered necessary
to credit himself with
an artistic exit from
the world. It was his
custom to carry a
pocketful of news-
paper clippings which
referred to people who
had voluntarily given
up the business of
life, and often when
he could spare the
time he would spread
these precious bits
upon his desk and phi-
losophize over them.

"Here," he said one day when he had
produced a fresh clipping, "is a story
concerning a man who threw himself
from the top of a twenty-story building.
The method is effective but wholly
inartistic. One cannot do that with-
out making a muss. When I remove
myself, as I hope to very soon, it will
be in such a way as to cause no incon-

venience to others. Hanging I con-
sider vulgar, and shooting does not
lend itself to the requirements of good
taste. One cannot shoot oneself and
remain presentable."

When Doc Lambert identified him-
self with the house of Barton, Swift &
Co. he was assigned to a desk near the
one at which Mrs. Stetson, our steno-
grapher, worked. Mrs. Stetson was a
widow who supported two little chil-

I M GOING

TU LIKE THIS GRAVE, SAID DOC, "'AND I HOPE TO GET SAFELY MOVED
INTO IT BEFORE SNOW FLIES"

dren and provided for her own wants
out of a salary of $15 a week. That
alone would have entitled her to
recognition as a genuis; but she did
more. She could not bring her chil-
dren to the office, so she paid a woman
to take care of them from seven o'clock
every morning until six at night, Sun-
days excepted. Perhaps she was

thirty-five years old; maybe only
thirty. She certainly had reason
enough to look her age, whatever it
was; but she was far from being the
least hopeful person in the establish-
ment.

Doc was her pet aversion. She
abhorred him and he cordially recipro-
cated. Neither made any conceal-
ment of the contempt each had for the
other.

After Doc had ex-
pressed his disap-
proval of shooting as
a means of self-des-
truction Mrs. Stetson
said:

"The principal
trouble with you,
Doc, is that you're
too lazy to take ex-
ercise enough to keep
your pores open. I
remember hearing a
physician say once
that there was noth-
ing like clogged pores
to bring on despond-
ency. Why don't you
invest in a home
training apparatus ?
It might give you a
new outlook."

"Now you take
throat-cutting," he
went on, without
looking up from his
clipping or acknowl-
edging that he had
heard the widow's
remarks; "that is
clearly an indication
of degeneracy and,
furthermore, it is sure
to be followed by
disagreeable conse-
quences, especially if
it is done in a car-
peted room. The
man who cuts his
throat shows an utter
lack of the finer feel-
ings.' Asphyxiation
is much more genteel
and, all things con-
sidered, is , perhaps
about as good a
method as has ever
been thought out."
"What you need,"
said Mrs. Stetson,
"is some one to take
your mind off that
kind of foolishness. If I were your
wife I'd give you something beside
suicide to think about."

He studied her for a moment and
seemed to be framing a sarcastic reply,
but evidently he was unable to think
of anything severe enough. He there-
fore went on with his philosophical de-
ductions concerning asphyxiation.

"There's only one trouble about it,"
he said. "Unless a man can have a
whole building to himself when he turns
on the gas somebody is likely to break
into his room before he is dead and
spoil everything. As far as the gas is
concerned, one needn't worry about
that. If I decide to select gas as the
medium in my case I shall leave
enough money to pay for whatever the
meter may register. I consider this
no more than right. There are cer-
tain poisons that have good points, but
poison never made a strong appeal to
me. There is something about the
word that I don't like. One somehow
gets the impression that a man who
poisons himself must be a plebeian.
Drowning is in some respects a fairly
good method, too."

"Will you please talk about some-
thing else — if you must talk ?" Mrs.
Stetson pleaded. "You make one feel
creepy. I should think you would be
afraid something terrible would happen
to you."

"If I were going to drown myself,"
he continued, folding up his clipping
and placing it carefully with the others
that he carried, "I should not do it in
a well. That would make trouble for
others. I myself should not thank
any one for drowning himself in a well
of mine. In addition to the nuisance
of having to get the body out it would
have a tendency to spoil my taste for
the water, at least for a few days.
I "

"Could you be induced to postpone
your remarks until I get these letters
copied ?" Mrs. Stetson asked. "Or
if it would be more agreeable for you
to go out and drown yourself at once,
please do that."

"I should not throw myself into a
reservoir or a small lake either," he
said, ignoring the lady's interruption.
"I once saw a body that had been
taken from the water after having
floated for several days and it was not
an attractive object. I should not
want my body to be found in such a
condition. If I ever drown myself it
will be in mid-ocean, so that there can
be no possibility that it ever will be
recovered. On the whole, however, I
think drowning is hardly to be recom-
mended. There are too many risks
attached to it. One never can be sure
that some fool will not be waiting
around somewhere, ready to jump in
and pull one out by one's hair. To a
man with any self respect that would
be humiliating.'"

Having placed his clippings in his
pocket, he turned to his desk to resume
his work.

"Thanks," said Mrs. Stetson, with a
little shiver. "I was afraid you'd
never get through this time. What
you need is a wife — a good, strong-
minded wife — to take some of that

CANADA MONTHLY

f9olishness out of you. The idea of a
man like you talking about committing
suicide ! You ought to be ashamed
of yourself. You don't know how
fortunate you are. If you were a
cripple or a hopeless invalid one might
forgive you for pretending to be tired
of living. A man who thinks of killing
himself is a coward, anyhow. He's a
mental weakling. There's a screw
loose .somewhere in his make-up.
There's a chance for you to figure it out
for yourself if you want to know what
I think of you."

Without indicating in any way that
he had heard what the lady had said
Doc bit off the end of a cigar and went
on correcting the copy of a new pro-
spectus which was to be one of the
finest products of his genius.

When he came into the office the
next day he took a clipping from his
pocket and after studying it for a
moment said:

"Here's an interesting case. A man
threw himself into a blast furnace and
his body was completely consumed.
That appeals to me very strongly. It
did away with the necessity of a
funeral. I consider a funeral a nuis-
ance. It wouldn't be so bad if they
would bury one without getting some
woman to screech or letting some male
quartette howl over one. I shall leave
specific instructions that nothing of
that kind is to be done when they hold
my funeral; but how am I to know
that they will respect my wishes ?"

"I don't think you need worry,"
Mrs. Stetson remarked. "No one will
ever feel like bursting into song over
you, either alive or dead."

"It would be just like some ofificious
preacher," Doc continued, "to want
to send me ofT to the accompaniment
of 'Lead Kindly Light' or something
of that kind, in spite of any orders I
might leave. Still, one has to assume
that risk. There's another thing I
want to have thoroughly understood.
No women are to stand around my
grave when I'm lowered into it. If
the boys from the office want to pay
their respects by coming out I shall
consider it decent of them, but no
women. They sicken me. I have a
creepy feeling whenever one of them
gets against me in a crowd."

"Think of the feelings of the poor
woman who happens to be crowded
against you," said the widow. "Smile,
Doctor. Let's see how you look with
a twinkle in your eyes."

A few mornings later Doc came into
the office, carrying a long envelope,
which he carefully placed upon his
desk, saying:

"Well, there it is."

"What is it?" asked Danny Richard-
son, the resident manager, "your will?"

"No. I've bought myself a grave.
That's the deed."

"You have decided, then, that you
will not destroy yourself in any way
that will obviate the necessity of a
funeral ?"

"Yes, I've got that point all settled
in my mind. I went out to Mount
Hope Sunday and looked over their
supply of graves to find out whether I
wanted to be buried or not. They had
one that suited me, so I bought it."

"What kind of a grave did you
select ?" asked Danny. "Is it under
a weeping willow, or did you pick out a
spot that appealed to you on account
of the view ?"

"I found a place where there was
one grave left between those of two
men who had died bachelors. I wanted
to make sure that no woman could
ever be buried beside me, and this
grave answered my purpose. My
neighbors never having had families,
there will be no danger that their
graves will ever be used by anybody
but themselves, so it's all fixed. The
deed, with full directions concerning
the location of my grave, will be found
beside me when the end comes, so
there will be no occasion for any trouble
or confusion in that respect."

The possession of a grave seemed to
be a great comfort to Doc. He would
frequently take the deed out of his
pocket and read it over with unmis-
takable satisfaction. It almost made
him cheerful, and he fell into the habit
of going out on Sundays to look at his
grave and assure himself that it was
where it belonged. His first remark
when he came into the office on Mon-
day mornings was:

"Well; I went out to see my grave
yesterday."

He spoke of it as if it had been a
garden or a building lot, and the boys
found it pleasant to humor him by let-
ting him understand that they were
interested in the spot which he had
selected as his last resting place.

"I suppose," Danny Richardson said,
one morning after Doc had made his
usual announcement, "you intend to
beautify it with flowers, don't you ?"

"Flowers !" Doc sneered, "no ! I'll
leave the flowers for the women. They
need all of them they can get to keep
themselves from being insufferable."

Mrs. Stetson had a little bunch of
pansies fastened on her breast. She
caressed them and then, smiling at
Lambert, said:

"They do help to keep one from
being repulsive. I shall plant some
on your grave after you have begun
to use it."

He lighted a cigar and began to
smoke furiously, pretending that he
had not noticed her remark.

"What about a grave stone?" Danny
Richardson asked. "Do you intend
to provide that also, or will you leave
Continued on page 42.

The Mystery of the
Jade Earring

By Henry Kitchell Webster

Author of "The BuUerfly." "The
Whispering Man," etc.

Illustrated by Percy Edward Anderson

SYNOPSIS.

Jeffrey, a successful artist, undertakes to paint for the "queer, rich, invisible
Miss Meredith," a portrait of her dead niece taken from a photograph. For st)me
strange reason, the commission gets on his nerves, and he goes abroad suddenly,
without ever having seen Miss Meredith, but only her confidential agent and
physician, Dr. Crow.

The story opens at the point where he returns to find his friend (who tel's the
tale) at home with Madeline and Gwendolyn, discussing a mysterious murder.
Oddly enough, the murdered girl^a singularly beautiful woman with masses of fair
hair — was found frozen in solid ice, clad in a ball-gown which had been put on her
after she was shot through the heart.

Next morning Jeffrey telephones for his friend, and when he hastens anxiously
to the studio, says the portrait has been stolen. By a bit of amateur detect ive
work, they find the man who stole the frame and he confesses, but swears
that he never touched the painting.

"will you PROMISE." JEFFREY ASKED, "TO REGARD ME AS A SANE
PERSON RECOUNTING OBSERVED FACTS ?"

CHAPTER II— Continued.

For a full minute, I think it must
have been, Jeffrey sat there on the
trunk staring at him without a word.
For a moment there was in his eyes a
look almost of panic. Then he rose
and held out his hand to Shean.

"Thank you for telling me the truth
about it," he said. "Oh, yes, I know
it's true. I'm sorry for you. If you'll
come up to my place and see me some
day — oh, any time — we'll talk things
over and see what we can do. Oh,
and if you know where the frame is,
find out what I can buy it back for,
will you ? No, I don't want any
thanks. Good-by !"

In two minutes we were back in the
taxi. I wanted to ask him what had
given him the clue for what seemed
to me an uncannily lucky guess, but
his manner made it plain he didn't want
to talk, so I left his moody reverie
undisturbed all the way back to the
studio. He sprang out when we arriv-
ed there with unconcealed haste, and
fretted over the slowness of the eleva-
tor as we were going up.

His Jap heard us coming as we left
the elevator and was holding the door
open for us.

"Togo," said Jeffrey, "did you take
that portrait I left when I went away,
out of the frame ?"

Togo nodded and smiled. "Yes, I
took out. Put there." He nodded to-
ward a big unframed stretcher on the

outside of the stack that was leaning
against the wall. "That it," he con-
cluded.

Jeffrey burst into a laugh. "Well,
why the devil didn't you say so," he
demanded, "when I was making all
that fuss this morning ?"

Togo shook his head and lifted his
eyebrows. "Frame gone," he said.
"I not know."

Jeffrey strode across the room and
swung the big stretcher around. Then
he made a queer noise in his throat.
There was no portrait there. It was
just a big, gray, blank canvas, without
a brushful of paint on it. We looked
through the others in the stack. We
looked at every canvas in the studio.
But the portrait of the girl in the white
satin gown wasn't there.

CHAPTER III.

AN UNSEEN VISITOR.

Jeffrey's part of the search was a
mere pretense. Togo and I looked
everywhere — down in the studio and
up in the loft. But, for the greater
part of the time, Jeffrey sat in his
chair staring dully out of the window
and getting whiter and whiter every
minute. When I had satisfied myself
that we had really exhausted the possi-
bilities and that the portrait of the girl
in the white satin gown was really
nowhere in the studio, I dismissed Togo
with a nod, went up behind Jeffrey, and
laid my hand on his shoulders.

I didn't intend to take him by sur-
prise. He'd have heard me coming,
had he not been sunk so far in the very
deepest abstraction. As it was, he
gave a little shudder under my touch
and fainted dead away. I laid him on
the floor and loosened his collar. But
finally I had to get some cold water and
dash it in his face in order to bring him
to. Then I gathered him up, and with
a little help from himself got him safe-
ly ensconced in his big, deep Morris
chair.

"I'm sorry I made such a fool of
myself," he said limply.

I don't know why people apologize
for fainting, but they always do.

"Forget about it," said I. "You
were in worse shape than I realized
when you went away three months ago.
If I'd known how bad you were, I
think I'd have gone with you. And
you're not quite right yet. Madeline
and I will figure out, in a little while,
what's best for you to do. In the
meantime, you stop worrying. As I
said, forget it."

Jeffrey laughed. It wasn't a pleas-
ant laugh to hear.

"Forget it," he echoed. "Stop
worrying."

"Or else," said I, struck with a new
idea, "tell me all about it. I imagine
that will be better, after all."

"It's nothing but a nightmare," said
Jeffrey. "That's all it can possibly
be."

"Exactly," I said. "And the only
way to wake yourself out of a night-
mare is to bring it out in the daylight.
Reduce it to cold facts. Tell it, no
matter how it sounds. I've none of
your imagination, not any of those
wonderful intuitions of yours, but I do
lay claim to a certain amount of com-
mon sense, and perhaps I may be able
to help you."

"Will you promise," Jeffrey asked,
"to believe what I tell you ? Oh, I
don't mean to ask you not to think me
a deliberate liar," he went on, inter-
preting my look of surprise at his re-
qliest. "I mean, will you promise to
regard me as a sane person recounting
observed facts ? Promise when I have
got through not to come over and pat
me on the back and tell me what I need
is hypophosphites and strychnine. I'm
not a wabbly neurasthenic suffering
from hallucinations. If my story
sounds like a bunch of phonograph
records from bedlam, you're to promise
to believe it's the story's fault, not
mine."

If I felt an uncanny sort of excite-
ment over his prologue, I did my best
not to show it. I loaded and lighted
my pipe pretty deliberately before I
answered, and if the hand that held
the match shook a little, I hoped he
wouldn't notice it.

"All right," said I. "Fire away."

"Do you remernber," he began,
"that two years ago I spent the winter
in Paris ?"

"Do I remember !" I exclaimed.
"Didn't Madeline and I visit you a
whole week in your apartment there?"

"Did either you or Madeline notice
anything queer about me. then, or did
anything happen that you wondered
about ?"

I hesitated a little over my answer.
I might as well have spoken out, for
he noticed the little change in my man-
ner instantly.

"I see you did."

"Why, really it was nothing," said
I. "You may remember the incident
yourself. We all came into the studio
together one afternoon, after a little
sightseeing expedition, and we saw
lying in the middle of the floor — a
woman's handkerchief. Both Made-
line and I naturally supposed it was
hers. I went over toward it to pick
it up, but you saw it just then, picked
it up yourself, glanced at it, and
slipped it in your pocket. It struck us
both as a little queer.

"Not what you did, but the way you
did it. As if, somehow, you didn't
want to be questioned. Evidently you
knew the handkerchief wasn't Made-
line's, and you seemed a little embar-
rassed at finding it there. We had all
been off together, so that whoever
dropped it must have been there in the
studio while we were out."

CANADA MONTHLY

I stopped there rather awkardly, but
Jeffrey, with a little movement of im-
patience, told me to go on.

"What did you think about it ?"
he asked. "How did you explain it ?
Oh, if I'm going to be frank, you must
be!"

"Why, we both remembered," said
I, feeling for my words a little lamely,
"that you hadn't originally planned to
go with us that afternoon. So it
seemed to us that the owner of the
handkerchief must have come in —
well, must have been enough at
home there to get in when there was no
one there to receive her, and waited
for you a while and then gone away."

"And you made, I suppose, the con-
ventional explanation," said Jeffrey.
"Certainly you couldn't have been ex-
pected to make any other; especially
when I put the handkerchief in my
pocket that way and seemed not to
want to talk about it. But it wasn't
the right explanation. Drew."

"I'm not a Puritan," said I, "but,
somehow, I'm glad to hear that. We
both felt a little uncomfortable about
it, though we've never discussed it
since. Your manner seemed a little
different after it, too. I suppose that
was because you guessed what we must
be thinking."

"No," said Jeffrey, "I never thought
of it that way until this morning. But
I'll have to go back and begin at the
beginning.

"You know I thought I was awfully
lucky to get that studio in the first
place. There isn't a better one in
Paris. The man who had it — he's
a prosperous well-known painter —
had a long lease on it and a lot of
work to do, and it never occurred
to me, when I asked him if he knew
where I could get a studio, that there
was any possibility of his giving up
his.

"But he offered it to me, in a hesi-
tating sort of way, saying that he
meant to find another and thought he
could get one the other side of the
impasse. I asked him why in the
world he was moving out of that one
to go into one not so good across the
street, and all he said at first was that
he'd taken a dislike to it. It had got
on his nerves and he couldn't paint
there. I wanted to know what had
got on his nerves and he wouldn't tell
me.

" 'I wouldn't offer it to any one
else,' he said at last, 'but you're such
a sensible chap that maybe you won't
mind.'

" 'Mind what ?' I asked him again,
but still he wouldn't tell me.

" 'It's ten to one, a hundred to one,
there won't be anything.'

"That was all he would say. He
was a cranky, temperamental sort of a
cuss, so I didn't think any more about

it, blessed my good luck, and moved
in. I didn't find anything for about
a week."

"And then ?" I asked. I tried to
say the words casually, but it wasn't
easy.

"Get the geography of the place well
in your mind first," he said. "You
remember there was a little hall with
a kitchenette to the right of it. And
then the salon and two bedrooms
straight along in a row, with a corridor
on the inside. When you get to the
end of the corridor, you turn to the
left and come out in the loft of the
studio. The studio floor is a half story
down, by a flight of steps. There is
a door at the other end of the studio
that is reached by a flight of iron
steps outside, so that models and- such
can come straight to the studio through
the court without coming into the
apartments."

"Yes," said I, "I've got it straight.
I remembered it pretty well, anyway.
Go, on."

"And you understand, don't you,"
he continued, "that there's another
apartment and studio on the other side
of the court exactly corresponding to
mine, only left-handed. The end walls
of the studios come together and the
same flight of iron stairs serves both
studio doors. That's clear, isn't it ?"
I nodded. "Go on," said I. "What
did you find at the end of a week ?"

Jeffrey shrugged his shoulders.
"Nothing," he said — "nothing that I
can tell about even to you, without
feeling rather an ass. Why, I came
in just about four o'clock one after-
noon in November. It was dark, of
course. Let myself in by the apart-
ment-door — not the studio-door, you
understand. Let myself in with my
latch-key and lit the gas in the hall.
The minute I did it I knew that some
one else had just been there. I knew
that whoever it was, was in the next
room — the salon.

"Mind you, I didn't see anything
nor hear anything. I just knew it.
Now there's nothing uncanny about
that. I've got some sort of extra
sense that often tells me those things,
when the people in question are just
ordinary, ever>--day, li\-ing people. I
call it an extra sense. Perhaps it's
actually only an abnormal sense of
smell, but too subtle to recognize as
such.

"As you know, I didn't keep any
servant that winter. I had an old
femme de menage who came ever}.-
morning to clean up and then went
away. She hadn't any business there
in the afternoon, but still she could
have got in. She had a key and she
might perfectly well have come back
when she thought I'd be out — oh, to
steal a few candles or a basket of coal
or something. They all_do that. ^ So

CANADA MONTHLY

it didn't startle me at all or give me
any queer sensations to know that
there was some one in the place.

"I took off my hat and overcoat
after I'd lighted the gas, and went into
the salon. Well, there was no one
there. But the same sense told me
that whoever it was had gone on into
the adjoining room. That seemed
queer, because I ought to have heard
her moving about. But I struck
another match and went on. There
was no one there either, but I followed
what I can only call the scent — which
was just as definite, real a thing, as
what a hound follows the trail by —
out into the corridor and down to the
turning and into the loft and down
across the studio to the outside studio
door. And I was just as sure, when
I got to that door, that some one had
gone out of it less than half a minute
before as I was when I came in that
there was some one there."

"You heard nothing all the while ?"
I asked.

"Not a sound," he said, "except the
noise I was making myself, and that
wasn't much."

"And you saw nothing ?"

"No," said Jeffrey.

Well, I suppose you will think he
was right about it— that it did sound
silly; that it was a confession even a
nervous, fidgety woman would have
been almost ashamed to make; and
you may think that if I had been the
common-sense, level-headed friend I
professed to be, I should have told him
that his experiences were nothing more
than an attack of the creeps, and that
he was a fool to think twice about it.
I'd have done that if I could. But the
fact was, I couldn't.

To begin with, I knew that what
Jeffrey said about his possession of an
extra sense was the sober, literal truth.
I would trust that sense of his as far
as I would trust one of the regular five
senses in a normal man. When he
said he knew, in that inexplicable way,
that some one was in the salon when he
opened the hall door, it meant as much
to me as if another had said, "I saw
some one standing there." Granting
that, and I had to grant it, the thing
became a very curious mystery.

"You didn't miss anything ?" I
asked. "Nothing had been taken ?"

Jeffrey shook his head . "The trouble
is," he went on, "with the possession
of a sense like that, you never can
really believe in it yourself. You may
know you have it, you may be utterly
unable to disbelieve you have it, but
your common sense won't accept an
unsupported report of it. It insists
on telling you that you are a fool with
a head full of fancies, and it not only
prevents you from telling other people
about it — it won't let you take ordi-

*'IN THE MEANTIME YOU STOP WORRYING. AS I SAID, FORGET IT OR ELSE

TELL ME ALL ABOUT II"

nary, common-sense means for solving
the mystery.

"I thought about the thing for a
week. It didn't happen again in that
time and I had about persuaded myself
there was nothing to it but imagina-
tion. Then one evening when I was
coming home from the restaurant
where I'd dined, I saw a light in my
studio.

"My first thought was to go straight
up to the studio door by the iron stair.
Then I recollected that the sound of
any one coming up that stair was per-
fectly audible in the studio from the
moment you set foot on the lowest
step. It was a spiral stair and you
couldn't go up very fast. Whoever

was in the studio would have ample
warning I was coming and plenty of
time to get out through the apartment.

"So I went up the other stairs, as
softly as I could, had my key ready,
flung the door open, and rushed down
the corridor to the loft. As I turned
the corner, I heard the studio door
shut. The studio was dark when I got
into it, but one of the candles had just
been put out. I could smell it. I
scrambled up on the back of a big
Breton settle from which I could see
out of the studio-light into the court.

"I am perfectly sure that I was up
there looking out of the window before
any one who had just shut my studio
door could have had time to get down

CANADA MONTHLY

the iron stairs and across the court.
There wasn't any other way out. The
court wasn't dark, for the two hall-
ways were well lighted, and there was
another bright light in the arched
entrance to the court from the street.
Well, I looked and looked, but that
court was deserted."

CHAPTER IV.

WHAT JEFFREY SAW.

"I didn't wait for anything more.
I went straight out and cfuestioned
the concierge. Asked him if any one
had come in inquiring for me, or if
any one had just gone out. He said
no to both questions.

" 'Well,' I said, 'some one has been
in my studio. There was a light burn-
ing when I came in.' The imbecile
asked me if I hadn't left the light there
myself. I said no, that I had gone
away at noon, and besides, the light
was out when I got to the studio.
'Then,' said he, 'possibly what mon-
sieur saw was a reflection.'

"I told him a reflection didn't leave
a smell of hot tallow behind it. At
that he shrugged his shoulders and
suggested I report my losses to the
police.

" 'I don't know that I've lost any-
thing,' .said I, and at that he gave me
up for a maniac.

"I went back to the studio and
found that I hadn't lost anything —
nothing had even been disturbed. But
I felt perfectly sure — I can't tell you
how — that somebody had been sitting
in my big chair. Probably for a good
while. It was clear I'd have to solve
the mystery for myself. If I made
any complaint, or tried to provoke an
official investigation, I'd probably bring
up in the mad-house."

"Look here, Jeffrey 1" I cried.
"What about the other apartment —
the one that corresponded to yours on
the other side of the court ? Didn't
you say that the end" walls of the two
studios came together ? Couldn't she
have gone ?"

"Couldn't who ?" said Jeffrey.

"She — -the woman that was in your
studio ? The ghost girl — whatever she
was ?"

"That's queer," said Jeffrey. "I
haven't told you that I thought she was
a woman — a young woman too. But
I always thought of her that way, even
then. I even called her the ghost girl
then."

"There's nothing queer about it,"
said I. "The handkerchief made me
think of a young woman."

Jeffrey gave a short laugh. "That
shows what a fool I am," said he. "I
was getting ready to build another
little ghost-story out of that. Go on !
What were you going to ask ?"

"You said the same iron stairs
served both studio doors. Well, then,

why couldn't she have slipped out of
your door and into the other one ?
There'd be time enough for that."

"Because I thought of that," said
Jeffrey, "almost at once. And I sup-
pose that's the explanation that you'll
stick to when I've told you everything,
although I don't I^elieve it one single
minute myself. The people who oc-
cupied that apartment were an English
family named Williamson. I didn't
know so very much about him, so far
as his life was concerned, but we were
very pleasant acquaintances. I met
him as soon as I took the studio.
They were the most commonplace
people in the world.

"Williamson himself was a retired
English doctor — a chap in his fifties.
Hard-headed, straightforward, thor-
oughly good sort. He had a wife and
daughter there with him. They were
living in Paris so she could study art.
She had about as much chance of doing
anything at it as a dog has to learn to
sing. She was a pleasant, hard-headed
young little old maid of about twenty.
She worked very industriously in her
studio, and I developed my talent for
fiction to the last notch, thinking up
things to say about her work when
she showed it to me.

"Well, those three Williamsons were
simply out of the question. That
night that I saw the light in my studio,
there was a light in theirs— they gen-
erally spent their evenings there. I
went straight over, told them some
one had been rummaging around my
diggings, and asked if they had heard
anything through the wall. They
were interested, of course, and Mrs.
Williamson got quite excited over the
idea of robbers and wanted to know
if I had lost anything. They had been
in their studio all the evening. Now
you can say it might have been one of
them, and I can't prove that it wasn't;
but all the same the notion is incon-
ceivable."

"I agree with you," said I. "Go
on. What happened next ?"

"There wasn't anything very differ-
ent up to the time you and Madeline
came to visit me," said Jeffrey. "Two
or three other experiences more or less
like the ones I have told you about.
One night when I was in bed — I don't
know whether I was asleep or not- — I
wasn't sleeping well then- — I waked
up, if I had been asleep, with the idea
that I had seen some one go by my
bedroom door. I wasted two or three
minutes, I'll admit, lying still in a
sweating terror, trying to convince
myself it had been a dream. And then
I heard the studio door shut.

"I got up and lighted all the lights
and looked around, but I didn't find
anything. The whole thing may have
been a dream. But the handkerchief
we found on the floor wasn't a dream,

and I'm sure it had been dropped while
we were out. That was the first tan-
gible clue I got — the first thing that
I couldn't reason away when I was in
good form, on the theory of imagina-
tion.

"I went up one night to call on the
man who'd rented me the studio, in
the hope of finding out what his ex-
periences had been. But he was mum
as an oyster and tried to pump me.
Williamson spoke of it again once and
asked me if I'd seen or heard anything
more, and I told him no. I didn't
feel like showing him what an ass I
was and I knew I couldn't start talk-
ing about it without giving away the
whole thing."

"It's awfully queer, of course," I
said dubiously, "but — "

"I haven't begun the story yet,"
said Jeffrey — "the real story. But
here's where it begins. Now listen,
and if you want to call in an alienist
when I get through, why go ahead.
But let me tell the thing connectedly
first.

"A couple of weeks after you and
Madeline left Paris, I got a note from
the Muirheads, suggesting that I pack
up my color-box and come down to
Etaples for a few days. They were
having a lovely time painting winter
skies and things, and they wanted to
let me in on it, I was glad of an ex-
cuse to get away, so I went. I did
those sketches I showed you — the only
real work I've got to show fori the
whole rotten winter — and went back
to Paris feeling that I'd got rid of the
cobwebs.

"I reached the studio about two in
the afternoon — a bright, clear day. I
was feeling as well — as little liable to
any imaginative delusions as it is pos-
sible to imagine any one. I went into
my apartment, got rid of my traps,
and went down into the studio.

"This is what I saw: One of my
easels had been drawn out into the
middle of the room. There was a
canvas on it that had been painted;
there was a low stool in front of it
where the painter had sat. To the
left of it was one of my chairs, just
an ordinary, straight-backed chair,
with a mirror of mine standing on it
— an old mirror in a carved, gilt frame,
with a sort of ornamental top on it.
All around the stool on the floor were
brushes and tubes of my colors. There
was a palette on the chair, leaning up
against the mirror."

"But the canvas ?" I asked, for he
had hesitated there for a moment.
"WTiat was on the canvas ?"

Jeffrey got up and drew a long
breath. His teeth were clenched as if
they wanted to chatter and he talked
through them in a sort of dogged,
matter-of-fact way.

Continued on page 45.

When Paris Went to War

BEING A WOMAN'S EXPERIENCE IN THIS TEMPERAMENTAL

CITY DURING THE FIRST FEW DAYS

OF THE WAR

By Mae Harris Anson

ALL the world knows how the
news of the order for mobili-
zation came to Paris. It was
an entirely different experience
to have received it in a village of a
few thousand inhabitants, which was
as much a rural backwater as if it were
one hundred and fifty miles from Paris,
instead of only fifteen. For a month
I had been living at Enghien-les-Bains,
and though the Paris papers, read
there, had . the same news as Paris,
somehow the reality of possible war
never filtered through, never disturbed
the drowsy calm of the village.

On Monday, July twenty-seventh,
interest in Enghien was centered on
the amazing turns in the trial of Mad-
ame Caillaux for the murder of M.
Gaston Calmette. Progress of the
war between Austria and Servia held
second place. On Tuesday, however,
they were given equal attention.
Wednesday, everything connected with
Madame Caillaux was practically for-
gotten, for then even little Enghien un-
derstood that the "eventual war" might
be suddenly at hand. Thursday and
Friday, there were occasional remarks
prefaced with the words, "in case of
war." Saturday morning, even this
phlegmatic, drowsy little village began
to show signs of tension — but no ex-
citement, no boasting, no gasconade.
Saturday afternoon, at five o'clock,
I suddenly became aware of unusual
knots of men and women gathered
along the street below my window.
There were no signs of excitement, an
almost total lack of the typical French
gestures — but something about them
struck me with fear. Flying down
stairs, one look at Madame was enough .
Calm she was, but with a stricken look
in her eyes.

"Mobilization!" was all she said.
> "And that means — war?" I gasped.
"No one knows yet," she said, "but
probably."

Not a word more, not a hint of
regret, of fear, of seeming thought
as to what it might mean to her per-
sonally, although .she had known all the
horrors of the war of 1870, all the
humiliations. And her attitude waa

were

France. No
capable of
the French as
the hour mo-
ordered, can
anything but

Ollivier aptly

that of all
one who was
really seeing [\
they were from
bilization was
say they
sublime.

In 1870, En
phrased the spirit in which the
nation went to war with Prussia,
in the historic words, "a light heart."
Theatres remained open, social life
went gayly on without a break,
nobody gave any personal thought
to the war; the universal idea was
that "somebody" would drive
the Prussians back. To this war of
1914 however, France went with
absolute calm, almost, indeed, with
silence. There was no exuberant
belligerency, no hysterical patriotism.
Every face seemed purged over-
night of all selfish thoughts and
baseness, and in the days that fol-
lowed, everything that was fine in
the French nature came to the surface.
Theatres closed at once, even the mov-
ing picture shows. Frivolity, in fact,
dropped from the nation like a mask.

While our little group of women
stood silently looking at each other,
too stunned to say anything, a sound
electrified us, coming faintly from a
distance — the roll of a snare drum.
Rushing out to the street, we saw a
picture that might have been taken
from the history of a hundred years
ago — an old man, gray-haired, crippled,
ragged, coming toward us, head bent,
ignoring the world as if he were an
automaton, every atom of strength,
mental and physical, centered in the
call to arms that rolled out under his
hands as if it must be heard to the
remotest comer of the land.

A dozen small boys in belted smocks
followed him, cheering shrilly. Men
lined the walks to wait his passing,
their faces grave and stem, but their
eyes alight, and the women — oh, they
wept and wept. From our hotel a
dozen cooks came leaping out, still
in white aprons and tall white caps-,
shouting with joy that the suspense
was ended and that, at last, they could

be "at 'em." For days each had had'
a notice in his possession telling him
exactly where to be at a certain moment
after the order for mobilization was
given. In half an hour, every man
had left, literally dropping dishrag
and chopping knife, to pick up bayon-
eted guns; doffing the spotless white
uniform of cooks and kitchen helpers
to don the red trousers and long blue
coats of the private in the army of
France.

The echoes of the drum had scarcely
died away, when a wedding party
came gaily down the narrow Grande
Rue. A most pretentious wedding
party it was, the bride and groom in
an open landau, unashamed of their
wedding finery, the relatives and
intimate friends filling no less than
eight carriages. None knew that war
had come. Pretty bride and proud
bridegroom rode with conscious smiles,
ignorant that only a few minutes more-
were left them of the long married life
together that they had planned. Tears
that had almost dried upon the cheeks
of those who watched the passing of
the ancient drummer, welled up again
at sight of these young people so
unconscious of the wreck of their
happiness.

In the morning came the first realiz-
ation of what war might mean to me
personally. The hotel would no long-
er give the accommodations of "room
and board by the week," so Madame
told me. Guests must eat a la carte,
and pay as they ate — and overnight
all prices had doubled. Until then,
too, I had thought it safer to remain
outside Paris — probably there was
no foreigner in Paris who did not recall
the tales of mob atrocities under the
Revolution and the Commune. But
with morning came the realization that
Enghien lay between Fort Montmor-
ency and Paris, and that in the event
of the enemy approaching the city,
Enghien would be "warm," whether
Fort Montmorency on the heights
behind it remained in possession of the
French or fell into the hands of the
enemy. Moreover, Madame warned!

Continued on page 51.

In the Forefront

THE SILENT SOLDIER, SIR IAN HAM-
ILTON; HAMILTON GAULT. WHO RAISED
A REGIMENT; MRS. WILLOUGHBY-CUM-
MINGS, OF THE RED CROSS; "PAT"
BURNS. WHO FEEDS THE FIGHTING MEN

The Silent Soldier

Sir Ian Hamilton, whose formal inspec-
tion of Canadian soldiery has
turned into grim earnestness

By Eldred Archibald

k^r-ip]

'HE unluckiest man in the
British army," they call him,
but you are to understand
at once that Sir Ian Hamil-
ton's mischances have been purely
personal and have not extended to his
commands. His bad luck has con-
sisted in getting himself shot and
stabbed and otherwise injured in var-
ious parts of his anatomy, and in
various parts of the world.

An almost useless left hand and fore-
arm recall the day when a shell burst
away off somewhere on the Indian
frontier. Scars on his forehead are a
memento of another Indian engage-
ment when a flying splinter of shell
almost cost him his eyesight. Once,
during the South African war he was
desperately wounded, left on the veldt,
captured by Boers and abandoned
because there was no hope of his re-
covery. But he did recover, and then
-came the crowning piece of ill luck.
When his command was just rounding
into shape and beginning the final
clean up of De Wet in 1900, he was
thrown from his horse and had his
collar bone broken.

Enough of him was left, however, to
make a mighty good soldier, who hasn't
missed a scrap in which Britain has
been involved since 1875. The only
reason he did not serve in the Crimean
war was because he happened to be
born the year it broke out, 1853.
Twenty years later he was in the army,
and in 1879-80 he was at it, full tilt, in
Afghanistan. One year's rest and he
found himself at Majuba Hill, that
black day in 1881. He is one of the
very few men who went up the hill
that day and came down again on his
own legs, badly hurt as he was.

The Soudan claimed him in 1884-5
.and the next year he was paddling up

the Irrawaddy into the centre of Burma,
alternately shooting at dacoits and
catching fever. Seven years of piping
peace followed, to his disgust, and it
was not until 1895 that he got another
chance to risk his neck. That chance
came with the Chitral campaign and
from 1895 till 1898 he was busy all
along the Indian frontier. In 1899 the
South African war broke out and for
the next three years Hamilton was a
very, very busy man. He went home
once, but he had not been there long
when Kitchener cabled for a staff
officer. So back he went to clean up
with "Bobs" and Kitchener. Hamilton
was placed at the head of what military
men call "mobile columns," which is
just another way of saying hard-riding,
straight-shooting rapscallions, mostly
colonials who feared neither God, man
nor devil but had a wholesome respect
for their debonair, rather elegant

GENERAL SIR IAN HAMILTON

Who remarked that "Canada 13 a cute country — very
cute," and ruined a promising interview thereby

leader who could ride harder and shoot
straighter than most of them.

After the last Boer had been chased
to the last kopje. Sir Ian came home

and became Quartermaster General to
the Forces. He stayed put for almost
two years and then he went as British
Military Representative to the Russo-
Japanese war. He had not been
watching things for more than two
weeks when he sent back word that the
Japanese would win. It took courage
and insight to make that report at that
stage. His final report on that war
has been translated into half a dozen
or more languages.

After the Russo-Japanese trouble
was settled, he became general officer
commanding the southern forces, then
Adjutant General and was finally given
the pleasant task of going all over the
world inspecting and reporting on the
defences of the Overseas Dominions.

This was an agreeable billet. It
entailed a vast amount of travel, but
travel under the most pleasant con-
ditions. It was when he made his
meteoric progress across Canada with
the Minister of Militia and a glittering
staff in two special trains last year
that Canadians caught their only
glimpse of this war comet in human
form. What he said about our military
shortcomings drove some of our pacifists
nearly insane. His report on Aus-
tralasian needs, just tabled in the
British House, would have had the
same effect over there had it appeared
at any other time.

He is a queer mixture, this man.
He has been ten times mentioned in
dispatches, wears nine medals and
sixteen clasps, and earned the Victoria
Cross in South Africa. And yet he is a
writer of excellent poetry, some of it,
be it whispered, love lyrics of the most
lyrical description, and frankly con-
fesses that he never went into action
in his life without being in a "blue
funk and wondering whether he would
ever get out of it."

"Moreover," he adds, "I don't be-
lieve the man has ever been born who
felt much different." Certainly the
man has never been born who con-
cealed blue funk more successfully
than does Sir Ian Standish Monteith
Hamilton, G. C. B., D. S. O.

A queer mixture, certainly, this poet-
warrior, this writer of romances, who

CANADA MONTHLY

has killed his man in every quarter of
the globe, who writes as well as he
fights, but who eschews talk as he does
the devil.

"One of Hamilton's grunts is more
exprersive than another man's speech,"
said a junior officer who had been
grunted at one day.

When driven into a corner, he takes
refuge in the unexpected as when in
Ottawa last year, an energetic reporter
ran him to earth and undertook to
corkscrew some encomiums of Canada
out of him.

"It's a cute country — very cute,"
said Sir Ian and walked away, leaving
the reporter wondering how on earth
he could make an interview out of
that, for the one thing Canada isn't —
is "cute."

Writing about him some years ago,
an English commentator said, "Should
that war which has been so often prog-
■ nosticated as being the only means of
settling the differences between this
country and Germany take place with-
in the next ten years, it will fall to Sir
Ian Hamilton to take a high command."

We have the war and Sir Ian has his
command. If he lives up to his record,
Germany will know his name as well
as England.

Hamilton Gault

Who is giving, as well as going with,

the regiment he has personally

raised for the service

By William Lutton

IT is difificult to be in earnest when
you are very rich. A donstitu-
tionally serious young man, on the
right side of thirty, with many
millions, would be a rara avis. And if
the investigator did find him, he
wouldn't be popular.

But the possibilities of seriousness,
the muscles to tighten the smiling lips,
the soul to turn the polo-player into
the patriot when necessity demanded —
these things are essential if the rich
young man is to be admirable as well
as likeable, is to spring from the place
of the one-thing-thou-lackest spender
of millions, into the forefront position
of the great sacrificer demanded by
the opportunity of Empire.

Hamilton Gault, regiment-giver who
goes with his gift, was born in Rokeby
House, Sherbrooke Street, Montreal,
some thirty-two years ago — that splen-
did family mansion with its ample
grounds, so beautiful and restful to
the eye and urgently desirable to the
aesthetic mind by reason of its interior
preciosity. His father, the late Mr. A.
F. Gault, an Ulster Scotsman, was one
of Montreal's most honored citizens.

H. R. H. PRINCESS PATRICIA

The namesake and liege lady of her regiment of Canadian Light Infantry

He had been successful in his own par-
ticular business. He was a liberal
churchman and sustained the causes
of the Anglican faith in Montreal with
no niggard hand, at the same time
commending his religious life to his
family by his sunny nature, and to the
world at large, by his utter absence
of that "side" which is usually rubber-
banded in with a pile of check books.

Mr. Gault set high ideals before his
family. His son, when his education
was finished, joined the great dry-
goods business in Montreal, a business
the fame of which has spread far and
near, for its generous treatment of its
employees. He sold goods like one of
the clerks; he did office work; and by
his good nature, his geniality and the
true democracy of his spirit, he made

CAxNADA MONTHLY

HAMILTON GAULT

Who raised the Princess Patricia's Canadian Li?lit Infantry— and not only gave
his money, but went himself

hosts of friends among his fellow
workers.

Out of office hours, he possessed and
was possessed by, two useful and
healthful fads — sport and the army.

In Europe, where the Krupp night-
mare is never downed, military life
lias always had the stern seriousness of
rehearsal for a performance which is
sure to come off. In Canada, on the
other hand, the high-spirited officer-
lx)y used to get himself into his high-
•colored uniform and go in for a high-
priced good time. The sorting of the
wheat of true Empire-servers from the
■chaff of mere play-soldiers was left
until 1914.

But from the beginning, young Gault
took his war-practice seriously.

"I met him on several different
•occasions," said a military colleague
recently, "one being the divisional
■camp at Kingston in 1904. when he was
galloper (aide de camp) to Colonel

Gordon, who was the camp commander.
Lord Dundonald was in charge of the
Canadian militia at that time. He was
a gallant soldier, to give the devil his
due, but like all the Cochranes of his
race, very hasty and hot-tempered and
most over-bearing to his subordinate
officers. We had a big field day to-
wards the end of the camp, and being
on the staff, I was very near to the
General.

"As he had no staff of his own with
him, he naturally used Colonel Gor-
don's gallopers, with the result* that
Gault had to get it when the General
put his wrong foot out of bed first in
the morning.

"During the course of the manoeuvres,
Dundonald told Gault to instruct
the Cavalry Brigadier to bring the
men past at the trot. Gault duly
carried the message, and the cavalry
duly carried it out. But as soon as the
General saw them coming at the trot he

turned and yelled at Gault, 'What do
you mean. Sir ? Did I not tell you
the gallop ?'

" 'No, Sir,' said Gault, 'you told me
the trot.'

" 'Silence, Sir !' said the General, 'I
will not have you contradict me !'

'On this the Colonel, who did not
like to have his pet gallojier reprimand-
ed for nothing, said to the General, 'I
am perfectly certain that you said the
trot. Sir.'

"This so put Dundonald out that he
fairly sputtered with wrath. He still
insisted that he had said gallop and
was exceedingly rude about it. The
militia of Canada nearly lost one
of their most enthusiastic officers that
day. Gault had brought his two best
horses from Montreal at his own ex-
pense, and had gone to a good deal of
trouble to help make the camp a suc-
cess. He did not at all like the
way in which the English commander
thought it necessary to impress his
importance on the Canadians. But
even then, the Service meant more to
him than his personal pride and he
remained, where another and smaller
man would have resigned his com-
mission."

He loved all sorts of wholesome sport,
especially polo at which he was an
adept, being for years, the president
of the Montreal Polo Club. He had a
keen eye, a dashing spirit, full of
verve; he stood up in his saddle, all
tense and taut, never failing in speed
or brilliancy or daring.

He was also a famous huntsman.
He possessed a'n unerring aim with the
rifle, and had the joy — a candidly
savage joy — to see the big fellows
topple to his gun in East Africa which
he visited some years ago on a hunting
expedition.

A red coat, a polo pony, a good-
friend rifle— these were not the only
ties to Montreal and millions.

Hamilton Gault is one of those
fortunate men for whom the goddess
has turned her cornucopia upside
down. In marrying Sallie Stephens
he won not only a beauty but a woman
with brains and charm and bravery
and true kindliness.

They had an ideal home life. Both
were philanthropic; each inspired the
other. As president of Gault Brothers,
Hamilton Gault was greatly esteemed
for his commercial aptitude. He con-
solidated the business; he gave the
power of a robust mind to the great
practical considerations which in the
last analysis spelled dollars; but,
influenced by the beautiful woman
who was above all a precious comrade,
he gave thought to other and higher
things, the graces and assuagements of
life, the kindly deed, the considerate
thought, the plan for others' happi-
ness.

CANADA MONTHLY

And so time passed, easily, pleas-
antly, one gold year after the other,
until the fall of 1914.

Then this young man, not frivolous
at all, but full of the joy of life, awoke
one morning and heard a call, the high,
^imperious and peremptory call for
srvice. "England, my England" was
war. That inviolable isle set in the
Iver sea needed help.
Something large and insistent came
him. He thrilled to the vision of
tmpire. As in a flash he saw that he
ad a great duty to perform. The
lother Country which stood for the
lighest and best in individual and
national life was fighting for all that
made that life desirable, and had need
of every stalwart son. One thing he
had to do. He must first of all offer
himself. And then he must find other
spirits as ardent as his own who must
be formed into an organization so that,
going to England, he might say to the
mother who had nursed the young
Canadian nation, "Here am I; here
are companions. Take us; use us for
service."

He had not shirked any task: he
had taken his duties as citizen and
philanthropist seriously. While he
loved all merry qnd wholesome things,
he also had the sense of responsibility.
But this was to be the great personal
consecration. This was the high and
sacred duty.

When the public in Montreal heard
that he had risen to the supreme
sacrifice, they thrilled with the sense of
the heroic. When they learned that
Mrs. Gault was going with her husband
to the front to do her own work, a
lump rose in the throat. Here was
love that was indissoluble, twin spirits.

MRS. HAMILTON GAILT .

Who worked alongside of her husband indefatigably
in raising his regiment

committed to the high resolve. Where-
cver they appeared the people cheered
them, and on the memorable evening
when the giver walked behind his
regiment, the watchers, however poor
or narrow or sordid in their lives and
outlook, instinctively recognized and
loved the great deed, the sublimity of
sacrifice.

But the chief grace of Mr. Gault is
his utter lack of self-consciousness.
He insisted that he was doing nothing
out of the way. It was a matter of
plain duty. It might be duty to sell
drygoods or to make profits for his
cotton shareholders. It might be as
plain a duty to give his life for the
Empire.

Some there are who arc not quite
sure that England should have entered
this war. For men of the large mould

PRINCESS PAT S PETS ON GUARD

of Mr. Gault, there is one thing clear —
the imperious necessity of rallying
round the flag, which stands for all
that makes life worth while, in the
spacious freedom that Flag affords.

"Do not make too much of it," he
remarked, deprecatingly, to friends who
said praiseful things. "I am only doing
my duty."

That is the proud yet humble spirit
which should win the war.

Mrs. Willoughby
Cummings

A representative woman in whose

judgment the women of Canada

place complete dependence

By Irene Wrenshall

^UR four trunks were all full;
and some suitcases too, but
we couldn't refuse to take
these. That is a pie for a
private in the Queen's Own that his
grandmother made him, and this big
cake which was given to us at the train,
is to be delivered into Sergeant
Blank's own hands, for his mother iced
it for him the very last thing. Yes,
those are wristlets, but they were
specially knitted for a certain group of
boys so we didn't put them in with
the others."

The time was Tuesday afternoon on
the eve of the departure of the first
Canadian contingent from Valcartier
to the front, the place, the thriving
tented city of 30,000 and the laden
down women who were carrying so
many good-bye gifts for the soldier
boys from anxious relatives at home,
the Chairwoman of the Toronto
Patriotic League, Mrs. Willoughby
Cummings, with Mrs. Stearns Hicks
and Mrs. Featherstonhaugh, on a tour
of inspection, from the official stand
point, and as messengers from home,
from the personal stand point.

It^was an informal party, though an
official one, which, upon a large motor
truck, went from one place to another
all the afternoon distributing the
personal gifts of gum, chocolate,
knitted raps, etc., to the boys them-
selves, after having spent the morning
in a specially arranged distributing
tent, where under the watchful eye of
the chairman, everything was por-
tioned out to th€ various companies
about to depart.

It was a place of vital and intense
interest, this camp of young and stal-
wart Canada, to these women who had
been giving up their days and nights
for iraany weeks past to energetic work
and careful planning that the boy
might go away as comfortable as

CANADA MONTHLY

possible, but though the welcome of
the 30,000 men could hardly have been
more enthusiastic, though the freedom
of the city was theirs and the call to
watch the volunteers off was par-
ticularly strong, Mrs. Cummings felt
the call of duty in Toronto stronger
still and hurried homewards.

This is representative of the woman
upon whose judgment the women of
Canada, who are one and all familiar
with herself and her work, feel that
they can place complete dependence.

"Whenever I am appointed to a
committee — and everyone else says
the same — Mrs. Cummings is on it, and
working hardest of all."

This is the kind of complimentary
reference simply and straightforwardly
made, which you may hear any day
in Canada, if you are talking to one of
the women workers, be they members
of the National Council, the Woman's
Auxiliary of the Anglican Church or
the woman writers, about Mrs. Wil-
loughby Cummings, who is not only
the Chairman of the Toronto Patriotic
League, but also the representative of
the National Council on the Central
committee for Patriotic service.

At the headquarters of the Patriotic
League in Toronto you will usually
find her at almost any hour of the day,
now at the telephone giving someone
exact data about a poor-relief case;
now in committee with the workers
of the local Patriotic League, or with
the Central Committe, who by cour-
tesy of the League meet in one of the
rooms; now being interviewed by a
troubled-looking reporter with a half
hour of "fact collecting" to do, and
fifteen minutes to do it in; now rush-
ing off to address a meeting or estab-
lish a branch for Patriotic service;
always with a smile and a serene
countenance, as though there were no
such thing as bodily fatigue or mental
worry in the world.

But it is not only by the workers in
Toronto that she is known. All over
Canada hers is a familiar face, and her
personality and her opinion carry
weight from Vancouver to Nova Scotia.
Indeed it is to the latter province that
Mrs. Cummings is indebted for one of
her more recent honors as she was
given her degree of Doctor of Common
Law, from King's College, Windsor.
This she received as a tribute to her
knowlege of social conditions and the
legal status of women in Canada. Per-
haps the outstanding characteristics
of this most efficient worker are her
unselfish, untiring, energy, her geniality
and her memory. Of the latter, one of
her fellow workers on the National
Council of Women, of which Mrs.
Cummings has been the corresponding
secretary for about twenty years, from
the inception of the organization, said
recently, "Her memory of past events,

past amendments to law, and efforts to
obtain amendments, has been of ines-
timable benefit to the National Council.
She can state the exact date at which
a law was passe<l, when any matter was
brought up, either in committee or in
the general Council, and what was
accomplished at the time. Her brain
is that of a historian."

The experience gained in her years
of service for the Council, in systematiz-
ing large groups of letters, has enabled
her to overlook all the clerical arrange-
ments of the patriotic work and tiibu-
late it on a scientific basis. Her busi-
ness like method of handling all the
troublesome details is a boon to the
secretaries and a matter for deep
gratitude to the various women journal-
ists who apply to her for news.

By her position on the Central
Patriotic committee she has wielded a
large and wide spreading influence
upon the work of the women of Can-
ada, over whom the Central Committee
alone has jurisdiction, to prevent over-
lapping. That there has been order
instead of chaos, and that, instead of
thousands of one article being made
and two or three of an equally useful
article, there has been a marked uni-
formity in the supplies, has been largely
due, her enthusiastic fellow workers
will tell you, to the capable and clear
brain of the National Council's repre-
sentative.

But it would not be fair to study
Mrs. Cummings' characteristics solely
from the point of view of the W. N. C.
and the W. P. L. The daughter of the
late Rev. Jonathan Shortt, D.D.,
rector of St. John's Church, Port Hope,
and with a brother. Rev. Chas. Shortt,
a missionary, it is not to be wondered
at that Mrs. Cummings has always
taken an enthusiastic part in the
missionary work of the Anglican
Church, and has been for many years
editor of the "Leaflet," the official
organ of the Women's Auxiliarj', a
purely voluntary work.

Mrs. Cummings has had a very great
deal of international experience which,
in combination with a natural breadth
of mind, has given her a well-balanced
viewpoint on all questions. She is
keenly interested in human nature,
having studied it as a woman writer
on the Globe for a number of years,
and as the government lecturer for the
Dominion Annuities, a position which
she held with great success, with the
result that she can easily get into
touch with all manner of people.
Democracy is a strong principle with
her, and she is quick to recognize the
ability in the woman worker, and to
provide all possible opportunities for
her to display that ability to the best
advantage.

Local questions have always had a
keen interest for her. Her Toronto

CANADA MONTHLY

ill
OI

patriotism has been proved by her
work on the Woman's Committee of
the Exhibition, and her present ability
to keep in sympathetic touch with the
poor-relief and employment question
may be traced back to five years ago
when employment was a burning issue
in Toronto and when Mrs. Cummings
as one. of a committee which carried
'on the work of establishing an employ-
ment bureau for women.

It is the same story wherever you
go. Those who have only heard her
speak, thank her for her clearness of
voice and lucidity of explanation, while
those who are working with her find it
hard to decided which of her character-
istics is the most potential for the
success of all with whom she comes in
contact, the organizing brain, or the
kind heart which produces that in-
estimable gift of tact, the chief essential
of a leader.

The Fellow Who
Fights at Home

"Fat" Burns, of Calgary, who has put

his resources at the service of the

Empire in practical ways

By Michael Svenceski

''X/^

'OU can put it strongly that
there will be no famine in
Alberta and that there is no
danger of a meat famine in
Canada, for this country has lots of
cattle, pigs, and other meats," declared
"Pat" Burns of P. Burns Co., Ltd.,
meat packers and canners and the
Armours of Canada, in reply to a
([uestion put to him with regard to the
possibility of a meat famine in this
country.

There had been a slight rise in the
price of pork and the interviewer, in
the capacity of a reporter for one of the
daily papers of Calgary had travelled
out to Ogden where the large plants
of the P. Burns Company are situated.
He fcnmd Pat Burns in his ofiice, which
was easily accessible and in that respect
quite different from the sanctums of
other kings — oil kings, land barons,
and timber magnates.

The C'attle King was quite willing
to discuss the problem. In fact he
went to great lengths to explain that
the meat prices in Canada are governed
by the state of the Toronto market
and that the slight rise of a cent a
pound in pork had been due to the
excitement pervading the brokers in
the Queen City. He pooh-poohed the
idea of a famine and declared that he
did not even expect the prices of meat
to rise more.

"The meat canning and packing

'pat burns, of CALGARY

Who is feeding tlie figliting men. Incidentally, he cut all his rents in Calgary
fifty per cent when the war broke out

companies can handle the demand
and even if they were unable to do so,
the farmers in many places have taken
the wise course of raising a few cattle
on their farms and these collected
bands of cattle could stop a famine.
But the meat companies are fully
capable of taking care of the demand,"
said Mr. Burns confidently.

And that started Mr. Burns on his
favorite subject of "beef." He leaned
forward, one hand gesticulating and
the other playing with his watch chain.

"The ranchers and small farmers

are beginning to learn that a few head
of stock kept around the farm, besides
being helpful, are a good thing to fall
back on when the crops fail. There is
always a market for meat. The prices
of this commodity have been advancing
with the years and the raising of live-
stock by the farmer is one practice
which will make for the future pro-
sperity of this country."

At a meeting of the stockmen held
in Calgary a short time previous to the
interview, "Pat" Burns made a short
speech moving that the Calgary

association of st,ockmen unite with
other bodies of stockmen so that the
associations could act as one body
with a single purpose. His one aim
was to unite the stockmen, none of
whom is big compared to the vast
industry Burns controls, in preserving
the province of Alberta's reputation
as the leading stock raising province
in the Dominion of Canada.

At the time of the interview the
troops were all on their way to Val-
cartier and when questioned as to
whether or not he would supply the
meat for the government, "Pat" Burns
replied :

"Oh, I suppose they will want the
best, so 1 am getting ready," and his
eyes twinkled. The real state of
affairs was that the government was
already figuring with him and he was
offering, through patriotic reasons, such
low prices that undoubtedly he would
get the contract.

Asked at that time if he were going
to do anything to help the government
he replied that he supposed he would.
Since then he has raised a big amount
of money, sent a bunch of horses for
the soldiers and, not content with his
active work in securing contributions
to the patriotic fund, he gave further
evidence of the kind of patriot he is by
reducing the rents of his tenants in his
buildings in Calgary fifty per cent.
But what makes the newspapermen
angry — for they are always on the
lookout for stories about the man that
all Calgary respects — is the fact that
he does everything quietly. If it
hadn't been for a glad-hearted tenant
telling a news picker about the cut in
rents the public would never have
known that "Pat" Burns had been so
patriotic.

And yet when the interviewer made
a clean breast of it and declared he had
come to interview the Cattle King,
the heavy-set, grey-mustached and
shrewd-eyed Irishman shook his head
and said:

"I am nobody but a cattleman and
I'm not worth a write-up. A cattle-
man. That's all." He did not want
a write-up of the things he had done
for Canada, for Alberta and Calgary.
He is still doing things for the great
Western country that is his domain
and like a true Westerner, he believes
bouquets belong to funerals when the
deceased has no opportunity of pro-
testing.

Calgary is a pretty and praise-worthy
town in her own way, but she prides
herself more on her business activities.
She hustles six days a week and on the
seventh is restless for the coming Mon-
day.

The Sunday school teacher who was
new to Calgary learned something of
interest from one of the tots in her
class. The lesson was an explana-

CANADA MONTHLY

tion of the wonderful work of the Al-
mighty.

"Now, class," said the teacher, "can
anyone tell me who built the vast
world ?"

"God did," answered the first tot.
The teacher put the next question to
the second child:

"And who made Canada the great
and glorious country it is ?" The
child questioned answered that it was
"The Lord," and the teacher asked the
third question.

"And who made Calgary ?" The
pupil hesitated a moment a(nd then
with a sudden inspiration declared,
"Oh please, teacher, Pat Burns."

Before the land boom, Calgarians
who belong to the ' ' I knew him when — ' '
club, would tell you that if it hadn't
been for Pat Burns, Calgary would
still be a water tank town. Perhaps
Pat Burns did not build Calgary as the
cronies say he did, but one thing is
certain, and that is, that he put Cal-
gary on the map.

Before the name of Pat Burns be-
came associated with the cognomen of
Calgary, strangers hearing the name
would remark that they had never
tried it but if it was whiskey they'd
have a "shot." The big personality of
the great cattle king linked with Cal-
gary made it a centre^ of interest.
What would Vancouver, be without
Pauline Johnson, or what would Mont-
real be if Stephen Leacock did not
reside there ? Nothing. A mere
nothing. It's the places of interest
and the big men and women who reside
in a city that make it known. Mainly,
the city depends on the fame of its
people — what they have done. This
is especially true of the far reaching
western country where they do not
ask who you are, or what you were,
but what have you done ? They care
not whether your ancestors butchered
the enemies of the country or the pigs
in the country. Neither will they want
to know if your family belonged to the
peerage class or the steerage class. The
westerner is broad-minded and depends
on his own deeds to make or break
him.

And you may well guess that Pat
Burns doesn't have to rest on the
laurels of forefathers to be the big man
he is. He has done things himself and
if it weren't for him the beefsteak or
porterhouse you eat at dinner would
come from Australia instead of the
plains of Alberta where lie the bound-
less ranches of the last cattle king of
Canada.

To-day Pat Burns is the remnant of
that strong and mighty race of men —
the cattle barons. When they held
sway fifteen years ago he was a small
rancher. They have gone. The
homesteaders have fenced the open
ranges and waved good-bye to the

cattlemen, the scorners of limited areas.
But Pat Burns did not scorn to have
fences about his ranges and to-day he
is the last of the honored band.

Although Mr. Burns is typically and
at heart a Westerner the land of the
setting sun cannot claim him a native
born. He hails originally from a dis-
trict which has since become famous
as a breeding place for millionaires;
namely, Kirkfield, Ontario. Sir
Donald Mann and James Ross both
sprang from that vicinity. The Pre-
sident of the Canadian Northern Rail-
way, Sir William MacKenzie, was a
chum of Pat Burns Once asked if he
had ever known Sir William, Pat Burns
remarked :

"Yes, a little. We wrestled in our
nightshirts together." This, of course,
happened long ago in "school days."
Those were short days indeed, for the
future cattle king's father found lots
of chores that occupied the youngster's
time outside of school hours. But the
lad profited by all his work and at the
age of eleven put through his first deal
— with a substantial profit for himself,
and a profit for his father.

By and by the land rush started
many of the younger sons of Ontario
westward. Pat Burns pulled his
stakes, dropped the old oaken bucket
into the well, and turned his face to-
wards the setting sun. He arrived in
Manitoba in 1887, and immediately
procured for himself a homestead. Sir
William MacKenzie, then called plain
"Bill," came along surveying the line
of the Canadian Northern Railway.
Strangely enough MacKenzie drove a
stake into a corner of the section owned
by Burns and called it a station. Pat
immediately sold out and drifted a
little farther westward, to Brandon.

However, the real wild west kept
calling and calling. The prairie fever
was at its height and, having once
looked upon the "land that lies unto
the skies," in 1890, Pat Burns took
another turn at the wheel of fate and
moved to Alberta.

Once in the virgin country, did he
loaf around waiting for something to
turn up ? Did he seek out new friends
and tell them the story of "paying it
back on Monday"? Not a bit of it.
He jumped right into business, and
although there was competition on
every side, the young rancher did not
heed the frowns of the big ranchers.
He kept up an Irish smile and proceed-
ed with his pastime of accumulating
land and cattle.

The first "scoop" he put over the
rest of the ranchers and cattlemen w'as
that of shipping "rough beef" into the
logging camps and mining towns of
British Columbia while the rest did
not like to take hazards with their
products and were content to ship]iit
east. Luck was with the young rancher

CANADA MONTHLY

and the shipment reached its destina-
tion and Burn's bank account reached
skywards.

That was the beginning of the supply
of "rougher meat" for a market which
has since developed into a big trade.
It was a gamble pure and simple, a
hundred-to-one shot that he would
make good in the new zone. He won.
From that lucky shipment grew the
foundation of a trade which to-day
embraces twelve ranches that stretch
for hundreds and hundreds of miles in
the great prairie province of Alberta.
That stroke started a trade that
requires two packing houses, one in
Vancouver and one in Calgary, which
cover acres and acres of ground. That
prime move generated a trade that
now stretches from the Atlantic to the
Pacific, a business that has twenty dis-
tributing houses, besides innumerable
retail shops in the principal cities of
Alberta, British Columbia and Yukon
Territory; a big trade that requires a
big man to handle and no one can deny
that Pat Burns, its founder, a cattle
king arid rancher, is the only man who
could handle such an irnportant and
enormous amount of business and
supervise it as he does. For even to
this day he is the ruling power of his
company, just as in the late nineties he
rode as a cowboy, among his cattle,
which then ran in twenties whereas
to-day they run in thousands.

Those were the happy days for the
cowboy. They were the days when
Southern Alberta was the real wild
western cow country and from Red
Deer to Montana the cattle roamed
the ranges at will. There were no
settlers, no homesteads, no fences, no
wheat growers. The range, free and
open as God's country, belonged to the
cattleman at large. Round-ups were
held twice a \ ear, in the spring and fall,
and Pat Burns rode the ranges with
his cowpunchers and superintended
operations personally.

In the Calgary clubs one may still
hear the cronies tell of what a hard
rider Pat Burns us( d to be and how
full of ^rit and daring he had shown
himself. His horse once stepped into
a gopher hole, a feat that is easily per-
formed on Alberta prairies, and threw
the hardy rider. The result of the fall
was two broken wrists. Friend reader,
if you have ever attempted to get into
a saddle without using your hands you
will understand what a feat Pat Burns
performed when he climbed into his
saddle and rode eighteen miles ;■ a
doctor. The doctor who patthea up
the broken wri.sts still wond.:rs what
sort of a fellow Burns was to have for-
gotten to faint.

Pat Burns does not pose as a critic
or a student of the classics, but when
it comes to judging men he shows
better wisdom than even in his j udgment

of cattle, and his judgment of cattle
has made him millions. He can pick a
man who is honest and fair because he
himself is honest and fair. His word
is his bond and every transaction with
him is on a cash basis. He has been
known to refuse a meal whose makings
had not been paid for. It is an iron-
bound rule in his ofifices, scattered over
three provinces and a territory that
covers half of Canada, that everything
must be prepaid in buying and all
deals are on a cash basis from the
lowest to the highest.

Once, whne being interviewed by a
newspaperman in Vancouver, who had
been a close personal friend of the
cattle king, the big westerner was
attempting to find in his pockets the
card of a man who had been in the city
and whose whereabouts he wished to
discover. The newspaperman would
be the likely man to know. Mr. Burns
hunted through his pockets for the
card. While taking out some small
cards and toothpicks from a vest
pocket, a little blue crumpled paper
fell to the floor. The newspaperman,
thinking it was the paper that the
cattleman sought, picked it up .and
opened it. He read its brief contents.
Then his eyes bulged and he caught
himself breathing quickly. In his hand
lay a certified cheque payable to Mr.
Burns for the sum of .seventy-five
thousand dollars. The newspaper-
man stufTed the cheque back into its
owner's hands quickly, telling him to
be careful of such money The cattle-
man replied "Yes, I ve-y nearly forgot
where I had placed thnt paper. Thanks
for showing it to me."

The newspaperman wrote half-a-
column on the carelessness of multi-
millionaires with thei ■ money. He
let the world know th^.i: the big cattle
king had so little regard for money that
he carried it in a vest pocket. Im-
mediately when the story was out over
two hundred philanthropists wrote to
the Calgary cattleman telling him in
lucid terms where he could double his
money many times over. The maid
complained next morning about hav-
ing to carry out so many letters to the
ash -can.

Another tale of the easy manner
that Pat Burns has with money is that
told of how he made the best speech at
a meeting of a fraternal order to which
he belonged. The reporters as usual
were late and they immediately inter-
viewed the secretary- to find out what
the guest of the e\eiiing, Pat Burns,
had said.

"Well," remarked the secretary,"
"the only thing he said was something
to the effect that he was not used to
making speeches and — ," continued
the secretary holding up a green piece
of paper, "this is the rest of his speech.",
The cheque was for a thousand dollars.

But he is not a spendthrift. Far
from it. Ask Pat for the secret of his
success and what will he tell you ?
"Oh, I know what I want and I try to
get it," he will say laconically. Then,
if you press him a little closer, you will
find that his motto is, "Thrift."

Once an Indian brought word into
one of Burn's main cowboys' camps
regarding a bunch of "drifters;" that is,
cattle which had broken away from the
main herd and had wintered it poorly.
Cowboys and work, as a rule, do not
agree and so the cowmen did not pur-
sue the topic of "drifters." They pre-
ferred to let them "drift." Not so with
"Pat." He ordered out the herd-
riders and brought in the stragglers
near a railroad. Then he had the
"drifters" shipped to Calgary; he fed
them and finally brought them around
to looking like cattle and then sold
them for so much per pound. That
is his best motto. But he has others
which he uses oftener and one of them
is, " Mind your own business and
don't mind everyone else's."

Therefore, when the interviewer put
the question to him whether he thought
the cattlemen of Alberta would band
together and present the Caradian
government with a bunch of horses for
war purposes, the cattle king remarked :
"Oh, I don't know anything about
it. They may decide to do some-
thing like that but I have not heard
of it yet."

The interviewer then decided to let
the subject alone and get some "inside"
stories of Mr. Burns' life and mentioned
the reasons why he wanted these
intimate tales.

"Mr. Burns," said the scribbler of
notes, "all Canada is interested in a
man who has made a fortune from the
land as you have done — and besides
I've got to earn my daily bread."

"Well, that is true about earning
your bread — but, young man, what
about sweating for it ?" Mr. Burns
tried to appear serious.

"Isn't this sweating for it ? Believe
me, Mr. Burns, in the course of my
career I have interviewed many men
and written them up, but I never saw
one yet who turned down an offer of
publicity on the statement that he did
not think himself a great enough man
and was not entitled to it."

"But why pick on me?" asked the
westerner, "interview Mr. — or Mr. — ,"
and Mr. Burns mentioned several
people prominent in and around the
city of Calgary.

"Don't you see, Mr. Burns, they are
known only in the city, whereas you
are a nation-wide figure — "

"Ah pshaw, young man, you're be-
ginning to believe your own fiction."
The big man lapsed into silence for a
moment and then went on, "I don't
Coutinued on page 48

"Good-bye, Toronto! Adieu, MonVeal!"

Copyrighl International News Service ^,„.,^^~~„ OT-rn

LOADING CAVALRY HORSKS ABOARD TRANSPORTS AT QUEBEC; A PART OF THE CANADIAN CONTINGENT WHICH SAILED SEPTEMBER 27TH

THERE are two kinds of soldiers
in this War. The German
brand is a carefully polished bit
of mechanism in a great steam
roller. His thought is censored to the
point of annihilation, his initiative is
deliberately drilled out of him. Von
Kluck and the Kaiser will think for
him, just as they think for the Reich-
stag.

The British soldier — above_ all the
Overseas Empire-defender — is just
plain Bob Robinson in khaki instead
of blue serge, handling a gun in place
of a plough or a pencil — same Bob as
he used to be — same songs, same
slang, same girl down home to write
to. He's earning one-ten a day in
place of two or three or five, not be-
cause a conscription officer rang his
front door bell and wouldn't listen
when his mother said he was ill, but
because he stood in line for two hours,
waiting for the chance to volunteer.
This War will see the last of one
soldier-type or the other. If the
Kaiser can swamp France with his un-
human grey-green waves of infantry,
conscription and drill to automatiza-

By H. R. Gordon

Illustrated from Photographs

tion will have triumphed. But if Bob
Robinson, thinking of his home in
Calgary, can shoot truer; and if
Tommy Atkins from God-knows-where
in the London slum can hold his bayo-
net tighter, while he sings Tipperary;
then it's good-bye to the steam roller
method in war, just as it's been a
lengthened process all over Europe of
good-bye to the autocrat in govern-
ment, the censor in journalism, and
the slave-driver in the construction

Meantime, Bob has gone overseas.
And this is how they trained hirn in
six muscle-hardening, joy-walking,
sharp-shooting weeks at Valcartier.

The first half of his Camp-life-tlme
was a sort of readjustment, prelude-
period. Bob the city man learned to
sleep on the ground, eat skilly and
beans out of a mess-tin and bathe in
the open under a cold shower. Bob

the village cutup and Bob the rough
lumberman learned to stand steady
and jump to the commands of officers
half their size. City and country
learned from each other ard both
learned from the drill sergea:.

Then the real work began. Shoot-
ing and skirmishing were the two
essentials. Day after day ihe bat-
talions marched through dust or mud
to the ranges, two to four miles from
the camp, according to the section of
the three mile line of targets assigned
to them. One road led through a
muskeg. The third battalion con-
sisting of Toronto troops had to make
the trip o^■er quivering moss and knee
deep mire several times. At first the
men, nearly all from offices, picked
their way from hummock to hummock
of firm ground, trying to keep their
feet dry. At last one young officer,
growing weary of the slow pace, called
out in ver>' unmilitary language,
"Come on boys, right through it !"
He plunged into the mire at a run.
Everyone followed with a cheer, and
no one was regarded as a real man
unless he was splashed with mud up to

CANADA MONTHLY

the waist. The procedure perhaps
was German, but the method of at-
taining it was most certainly not.
r^The target practice was of a thor-
oughly practical character. After a
day or two of the usual deliberate fir-
ing to allow every man to become
accustomed to the peculiarities of his
own rifle, "rapid fire" was the order
of the day. At the sound of a bugle,
fifty targets would be raised simul-
taneously, and a half company would
fire at them at the rate of one shot
every eight seconds. It was not at rdl
uncommon for men to score an "ave-
rage 6i inners," that is to place every
shot within an eighteen inch circle.
The markers, sitting in their trenches,
would raise their targets. Almost
instantly a sputter would be heard
and a tiny hole would appear. A few
seconds later another pencil of sun-
light would strike through another
hole, just beside the first one, and so
on till the ten shots were through.
The bullets passed overhead in a
steady swish, with a sound as of a
heavy rainfall through hardwood trees.

Here again the letter of the law was
not unlike that of continental practice,
but the spirit of joyousness in which it
was carried out was thoroughly un-
Teutonic. Little ' jackpots were
usually formed by the men of each
section with contributions of five
cents from every man. The winners
treated the others to pop, the only
beverage available for celebrations.

"This beats playing the ponies,"
remarked one steady loser, "because
luck doesn't count." The target
practice wasn't regarded as work but
as sport.

The shooting was varied by rehear-
sing the attack in extended order. A

CANADIAN LIGHT ARTILLERY GETTING THE RANGE WITH AN EIGHTEEN-POUNDER

mile from the targets, a battalion in
close order would dissolve into scat-
tered lines of skirmishers. Brown
figures would suddenly rise from
brown moss, dart forward for fifty
yards, fall abruptly and disappear,
leaving the plain apparently as bare
of life as before. This process would
I)e repeated until the foremost line of
skirmishers was a quarter of a mile
from the butts. Then the word of
command would be heard, and a scat-
tering crackle of musketry fire break
out. The line would dash forward
again, and more shots be delivered,
and so on till they reached a point
two hundred yards from the butts.
Advancing under these conditions,with

CHANGING. GUAKO AT VALCAkllbR

a change of aim necessary after each
rush, and the exact range unknown,
battalions scored from fifty to eighty
per cent, of hits. 'Individual companies
reached as high a percentage as
seventy-five.

As the Duke of Connaught remark-
ed after watching a Western regiment
fire, "The shooting is good!"

The men who enjoyed open order
work the most were the scouts. They
were supposed to look out for the
enemy. By some curious coincidence
the enemy were always located in
farmhouses where eggs and ' chickens
and sometimes hot meals were obtain-
able. After a month of skilly and
beans, men could detect home cooking
at a range of 5,000 yards.

"What have you scouts been doing
with yourselves ?" asked a captain
when his men reappeared after an
absence of an hour.

"We got tangled up in some under-
brush, sir," replied the senior scout,
with a perfectly straight face.

The captain looked hard at the bits
of egg adhering to the private's incipi-
ent mustache, turned round and smil-
ed. When the men of the contingent
reach the front they will not sit down
supinely and wait to be fed. They will
scout. And they will scout with
politeness un-Germanic, for, with pay
coming in at the rate of .fl.lO a day,
four times as much as the British
Tommy with the King's Shillin', they
can afford politeness.

For three dtiys, rain had fallen in
torrents. A review, and a day's drill-
ing in the rain had soaked almost every
scrap of clothing in the camp.

Did they lie down and groan, these
soldier-men ?

They did not. They stripped to the

CANADA MONTHLY

hide, rolled themselves in blankets,
lit their pipes and sang, "How dry I
am," and similar songs. The soaking
was treated as rather a lark.

A little later, brigade manoeuvres
on a hot day left four thousand men
five miles from home, with baking
throats and sweat-soaked clothes.
Dust wiis inches deep on the roads.
How did they get back to camp ?
They sang regimental songs. Most
of them aren't poetry, but they push
the pace painlessly, and that's what
they're for.

The officers in the main arc good
sports. There is no such cleavage
i)etween them and the ranks as exists
in other armies. In many cases,
privates and non-coms are personal
friends of the men over them. In
the evening when the day's work was
over, the officers used to drift down
through the men's lines to sing with
them, or out on the parade ground to
play football and baseball. If a Ger-
man officer could see a lieutenant in a
disreputable-looking sweater sitting on
a soup-kettle in a cloud of smoke from

the antics of regimental mascots. The
half dozen dogs, one from each bat-
talion, had a glorious game of tag.
The harmony of the scene was broken
up when a huge tomcat, the mascot of
a Western battalion, chased all the
other luck-bringers off the stage.

The Queen's Own Rifles of Toronto
had tied their hopes to a tiny kitten.
Incidentally they had tied the kitten
by a chain heavy enough to hold an
elephant. One sad morning the cat
slipped out of its collar and disap-
peared.

"It broke the chain. It was a
young tiger," was the general verdict.

In the last fortnight of the stay at
Valcartier, the seriousness of the war
began to be realized, but without fear
or sadness. Newspapers came with
stories of tremendous fighting on the
Marne and the Aisne and heavy
casualty lists. Even the most care-
less came to feel that they weren't on
a holiday. The boisterous songs of
the first weeks were heard less fre-
quently. The evening choruses in the
tents cultivated drawn out harmony

THE DUKE OF CONNAUGHT REMARKED, AFTER WATCHING A WESTERN REGIMENT FIRE, "THE SHOOTING IS GOOD"

the pipes of a dozen privates in under-
clothes and great coats, leading the
singing of "Where did you get that
girl ?" he would die of dislocation of
the dignity. The Canadian army is
a democratic army and the officers
are leaders rather than despots, leaders
moreover who can grin as well as
grind.

Sunday was curiously secular. Re-
ligion was dispended in much the same
way as rations of skilly and bread — by
the wholesale. To complete the
analogy, hymn books were distributed
from motor trucks. The men in the
rear ranks, unable to hear the service,
usually occupied themselves watching

instead of staccato noise. "By the
Old Mill Stream," "I Wonder How the
Old Folks are at Home" and "Mother
Machree," were favorites. In the
intervals of singing, little groups would
talk in undertones, seriously.

"You know," said one private as he
laid down his paper, "I've always had
a presentiment that I'd never get
back home."

A moment later he added, "Still, it's
no use worrying." In five minutes he
was joining in the chorus of "Casey
Jones."

The last evening in camp was an
occasion that will be remembered by
all the men long after they have for-

gotten about spectacular reviews and
monster church parades. Little groups
gathered around lanterns singing, do
not strike the casual bystander as out
of the ordinary. But the men in the
groups, drawing out the slow har-
monies of "Annie Laurie" and "Suwanee
River," knew that it was the last time
many of them would ever meet around
a Canadian camp-fire. And the silent
ones, who stared out across drifting
smoke at the sunset fading above the
black masses of the Laurentians, felt
that they were bidding good-bye to
their own country perhaps forever.
As the darkness closed they turned to
the old hymns they used to sing on
Sunday evenings in the twilight at
home, "Abide with Me." "Oh God Our
Help in Ages Past," and finally,
"Nearer My God to Thee."

Regimental chaplains drifted down
f|uietly to more than one sing-song and
said a few simple words more effective
than any sermon.

"We are all here," one of them told
his listeners, "in an unselfish cause,
to help other people against a bully.
Let us remember to be unselfish our-
selves in all things, to look after the
next man to us. As a fellow who went
through the South African War told
me, 'Look after the man on your
right, and the man on your left will
look after you.' "

"I'll be on the right of the line,"
remarked a sergeant, and everybody
smiled audibly, Anglo-Saxonly glad
perhaps of a break in the tension.

Then came the final day, the day
for which the six long weeks were
made.

In front of a tent in the morning
sunlight a stalwart trooper sat on a
soap box, writing a last camp letter
home, and from the smile on his face,
he was sending all sorts of cheering
messages back to take off the edge of
the parting.

Up at the Lake Joseph Hotel, only
five miles up the line of the Canadian
Northern, where the wives and
sisters and mothers of some of
the soldiers had been staying for
weeks, and which on account of
its proximity to the camp and its
easy access without pass, had been
a constant rendez\ous for loved
and loving ones, there were brave
eyes, reddened with weeping but tr>'-
ing to smile, lips that were being kept
under the firmest control, and glances
that lingered long upon those who
might never again appear, save in
memory. There were nurses, too,
clear-eyed and experienced, soldiers
every one of them, who would go with
the contingent.

In the full sunshine of an early
autumn afternoon, tears were bra^•ely
wiped away while eyes watched the
Continued on page 51.

CANADA MONTHLY

This department is under the direction of " Kit " who under this familiar pen
name has endeared herself to Canadian women from Belle Isle to Victoria. Every
month she will contribute sparkling bits of gossip, news and sidelights on life as
seen through a woman's eyes.

Air: It's a Long Way from Tipperary.

It's a long way from Canada,

It's a long way to go;
It's a long way from Canada,

And the dearest girl I know.

Good-bye' Toronto,

Adieu, Mon'real;
Farewell from Coast to Coast,

And God keep ye all.

It's a long way from Canada

I'll be marching this fall —
A weary way from my home land

A nd the best girl of all.

NOVEMBER
I— row short the summer ! How long
it is delaying ! We have had the
hot "spells," the cold night, the ex-
quisite sunshine of the fall. The trees
shaken with little gusts of wind are
bowing their Benedicite. Despite the
war, the old orb we call "the world"
swings on. One day the God of Reve-
lation will swoop upon it and then
a number of us will be sorry.

We have been warned of the spiritual
burglary. "Like a thief in the night
will I come," said the Lord God, but
we continue to beat our carpets, cook
our beans, read the war news, go to
church and to sleep, and shear the
sheep next to us; for we are human
and finite and grasping, and our only
hope is that the beneficent Shepherd
will have pity upon us — His poor
straying sheep.

Said the man at the crossroads, a
belligerent fellow: "Maybe it would
be the roast beef — they drum that tune
— or the good ould ale, but Pedlar, me
son, the Anglo-Saxon is a hard man to
beat. The divil is cheerful even if the
war is going against him — which it
isn't. Th' ould souldiers that are left
behind in this war are the fine men.
I was in Maf eking when Cronje pro-
posed a surrender to avoid further
bloodshed, if you plaze; but B. P.,
the big ould scout, roused out of his

sleep, said I'll let ye know when I've
had enough, and begar, he turned on
his blanket and went to sleep again.
Man alive, when the boy at the wheel
can crack a joke, the world is all right
and God's in His Heaven."

CHARMED LIVES

'HE proverb "Every bullet has its
billet" was, like many another
thing, "made in Germany." -John
Wesley, in his "Journal," gives the
credit of its first use in England to
Dutch King William. Some men seem
not to be destined to be the billet of
any bullet. They bear charmed lives.
They are often in danger, often in the
thickest of the fight, yet they never
cross the predestined path of a bullet.

There is a superstitious belief extant
in Germany that bullets cannot harm
certain people. A legend has it that
a Croatian captain who fought first
on the side of Parliament, and then
for the King in the Civil War, was shot
at by his Colonel for not returning a
horse to which he had helped himself.
Two bullets went through his buff
coat and a bystander saw his shirt on
fire. The Croat quietly took the bul-
lets from inside his coat and handed
them back to his colonel.

"And many a lad of them will go
under without ever firing a shot and
there's where the pity of it all catches
you — " A boy in camp was playing
"Home, Sweet Home" on a mouth
organ. A long, lank lad, well under
twenty, with a pale, eager face and
those very bright eyes of youth —
wonderful wanting eyes. Yes, many
a Valcartier lad will go under without
firing a shot and there will be only one
being who will weep in the night and
suffer and grieve all the days and that
will be the boy's mother. Fathers are
dear and proud persons, but it is always
the mother who is the worse hurt

when the little lad of her own body is
injured or killed.

THE RED CROSS NURSE

QUEEN MARY has set her foot
down upon the notion of fine court
ladies going out as Red Cross nurses.
She spoke her mind plainly to one of
these society dames lately in her own
practical sensible fashion. They had
quite enough of fine lady nurses during
the Boer war.

This time there will be no Cupid in
the camp of Mars. The nursing
ladies in the South African war were
an unmitigated nuisance, as Kitchener
could tell you. They even brought
their maids with them to add to the
confusion, and the scandals they caused
would fill the pages of one of those
unsanitary magazines which of late
have brought the brothel into the
drawing room.

So far as organization goes this
tremendous war seems to be perfect.
There will be no mistakes such as
occurred in the Cuban and Boer wars.
There will be nd siege guns shipped to
the scene of war — without sights — no
condemned and putrid beef, no
drunken commanders of transports, no
lack of surgical and other supplies.
At this moment the faith of the whole
Empire lies in Kitchener, and K. of K.
never yet failed.

HUMOR IN BATTLE

"PHE magnificent thing about the
British troops is that they refuse
to be depressed. Now that the wound-
ed are coming home, the noticeable
thing about the poor brave chaps is
their cheerfulness. When the man
at the wheel can crack a joke with the
tempest, the passengers are not likely
to feel frightened. They are Mark
Tapleys, every one of the lads who go
cheerfully into the trenches with a
hitch of the belt and a jest. Tommy
A. does not joke like the gay-hearted
French soldier. "Piou-Piou" sings a
lilt about his grisette or the Boul' Mich'
or something a trifle worse, and marches
along cheerfully. Tommy A. jests in
a quieter, grimmer way, but Lordy !
there's a lot of back-bone to it.

"A few more miles, lads," said the
young officer with a bandaged head,
"and you shall have a good sleep."
And just to show him they were with
him, a few poor wounded chaps began
an impromptu dance — such a ghost of
a little brave dance ! — saying "Lor'
love you. Sir, we're not tired." It was
then a six-inch shell fell amongst them
and six went to their eternal sleep.
The other day it was, when falling back
from Cambrai.

Bless you ! all the German philo-
sophy in the big, wide world goes to
dust before a grain of humor, of cheer-
fulness.

And wait. The modern Tommy A.
did not get his whole-hearted cheery
courage "off the wind," as we say in
Ireland. He comes by it honorably
from his blessed British forbears.
"My lads," .said one of Nelson's old
admirals, "my bucks, you see yonder
the land of Egypt. Well, if you don't
fight like devils you'll soon be in the
house of bondage." "Aye, aye. Sir,"
was the response, "but we'll put the
house in hell first."

And they did.

On the field of battle Tommy A.
chaffs death like an old friend. "I
could do with a pint of 'arf and arf,' "
said one as he waited for his red-hot
rifle to cool. " 'Old on," said his pal
in the act of firing, "my regrets is for
the sour wine I didn't finish." A shot
swept the bowels out of him and he
toppled over on his companion. Im-
mediately two Germans fell to his
account while Tommy A. swore deep
in his throat.

"Thank God !" said the "little
orficer" down the line, "my men are
still swearing." Oh, don't be shocked,
lady ! Swearing is merely steam escap-
ing — a fact which God knows and tlie
angels register as such.

NEWS OF THE BATTLE

r^REAT fault is being found with the
British censor, and the press-men
are indignant at being told they must
go to the back door of the Press Bureau
to get the meagre news. Poor news-
paper people ! No class is treated
with greater indignity. I remember
when I was a cub waiting and wander-
ing round hotel or theatre to get a
glimpse of some actress or stage nota-
bility. For hours and hours you would
wait and dawdle. Then be received
for five minutes and condescended to
and dismissed in the most peremptory
fashion ! And you couldn't say how
haughty and ill-mannered your
"genius" was. You had, like the
Irishman, "to butther her up and
slither her down" the throats of your
readers. And you would walk home
two miles in the wet and cold, because
you hadn't car fare and two kiddies
were waiting, and wring out your
skirts in the bath tub and put them
on half dried in the morning. And
be thankful for the meagre salary
preempted by the butcher and grocer
long before it was earned ! And it is
the same to-day.

In Cuba-time you were arrested by
a red-headed official for sending an
innocent wire to your chief apparently
regarding books, but which meant
that an army was moving. And your
chief told you in cold anger that you
had been almost a failure — because
you got yourself arrested. And now
the correspondents are dragging be-
hind armies, knowing nothing of what

CANADA MONTHLY

has Happened except what refugees may
tell them, and faking the rest, poor
chaps !

"What news of the battle ?" cries
everyone. You remember your Plu-
tarch and what the Athenian barber
got for spreading a false re[)ort of the
defeat of the Greek army. Human
nature is an immense book. You can
find a new story in it each day, but a
tale that has no end in the universal
thirst for news, and the passion for
spreading it. It is a difficult factor
to deal with. The world, however
deeply interested in commerce, finance,
industry, holds its breath at the sound
of battle. Watch the people gather-
ing about the bill boards; all sorts
and conditions. It's a funny jumble.
They stand, and stare and read.
Repetition most of it, but — everything
gives way to news from the front.

"PRAISE HIM AND MAGNIFY HIM
FOREVER"

T OFTEN wonder at the age of
things. The first English-printed
newspaper for the prevention of false
reports was published in 1588 when
Spain was preparing for her "Invinc-
ible" Armada. It was called the
"English Mercurie," a bit of a sheet
issued under the personal supervision
of Lord I3urleigh. There are, or were,
but three numbers of it in existence.
I had the good luck to see one in a
one-time famous book and print shop
in London. The first, dated July
twenty-fifth, 1588; contains intelli-
gence from Sir Francis Walsingham
that the Armada had been sighted "in
the chops of the Channel." After this
came our British count — a fleet of
eighty sail against one hundred and
fifty Spaniards. Think of it ! And
we beat 'em.

To quote Mr. Puddlebox (and I am
going to introduce you to him in a
minute): "O all ye fleet of eighty
sail, bless ye the Lord: praise Him
and magnify Him forever !" Don't
fret, that's what old Britain is doing
to-day.

"MAKE US HAPPY"

A LETTER from Brandon (Man.)
beseeches the Pedlar to eschew war
and "write something to make us
happy." Dear man, if the Editor
wants "war stuff" how can we gabble
about fresh fields and pastures new ?
And yet — suppose we leave the battle-
fields for a moment and look out in our
own bright and beautiful Canada on
Indian summer which, if not with us
now, will be sure to hearten us before
the second, and lasting snow flies —

Open wide
The window and my soul, and let the air
And out-door sights sweep gradual gospels in.

Golden Summer has flashed back,
and is peering through the purple veil

of Autumn at the old earth she had
so long cradled in her warm arms.
The labored breathings of the dying
year rise from the worids, and hang, a
throbbing haze, alx>ve the deep ravines,
where, under the gentle shadow, th(
trees shed their leaves softly. The
great |)au.se of the year is with us.
Already has the foot of Winter been
heard on the hills, and at the sound,
shuddering Autumn is calling on Sum-
mer to turn her radiant face on the
old earth again, before she walks over
the sunny hill into the shadow beyond.
So, hearing the voice of her tawny-
haired sister. Summer, with her last
roses garlanded about her Ijrows, is
hastening a little way down the hill,
and the brown earth rejoices. The
blue-birds pause on their way south to
perch and preen in the warm sunshine,
singing their little plaintive song, and
belated grasshoppers fillip over the
grass, springing their whirring rattles
as they skip joyously down the sunn\
slope.

Down by the pool the willows are
groW'ing rusty. The sunlight streams
through them, and dances over the
surface of the water, which, glitters as
though flashing lances were being
thrust up and down and across. Far
back in the little wood that crowns the
hill the jay chatters harshly, drowning
the sound of the falling lea\es that
slip softly to the ground. The pines
step boldly forth, uplifting their beauti-
ful heads to meet the singing wind, and
waving greetings as he sighs past.
The sunlight gleams on the sleek, gray
trunks of the distant belt of beeches,
glancing from them to warm lovingly
the little wan maple that is slipping
away in quick decay. Sunburnt
Nature is touching with kindly hands
her woods and hills and valleys, wash-
ing her great plains with sunshine,
steeping all the world in gracious
warmth before she laj's aside her russet
Autumn gown and garland of vine-
lea\es to put on the cold white robes
of Winter. Silent and still as she
seems, she is yet busy preparing the
earth for the coming of Spring, as well
as for the winter sleep. The strong
young buds of next year are there
curled up, and hiding amid the autumn
tints on the trees that seem so stripped
and hopeless. They will swing on the
rattling branches all through the win-
ter, wrapped securely in their downy
sheathes, until the heavenly voice of
Spring calling, they will awake, and
unfurl their tender green banners in
silent haste.

Now, too, the aerial seeds wing over
the land. Pop ! Pop ! go the milk-
weed pods, revealing the exquisite
silken fluff topped with little brown
seedlings. The wind catches the airy
nothing, and sports with it through
Continued on page 50.

CANADA MONTHLY ADVERTISER

Putting up meadow hay in the Nechako Valley.

Stock thrives on the rich grasses in the N ec hako Valley.

Farming Opportunities fa British Columbia

Come to the Rich, Sunny, Mild

NECHAKO VALLEY

on the Main Line of the Grand Trunk Pacific

Let this Board of Trade, which has nothing to sell,
give you reliable, disinterested, free information.

T EARN about the wonderful opportunities for farming and
■"^ stock raising in the fertile Nechako Valley, the largest
and richest connected area of agricultural land in British
Columbia. Fertile soil. Mild, bracing climate. The best mixed
farming country in Western Canada. On the main line of a
transcontinental railroad. Near good, growing towns. Near
schools and churches.

Government Department of Lands says: " The Valley of the
Nechako comprises one of the finest areas of land in British
Columbia." Dr. Dawson, the well-known Government expert
and investigator, says: "The Nechako Valley is the largest
connected area of lands susceptible to cultivation in the whole
Province of British Columbia."

Here is independence and health calling to you! The
Nechako Valley needs settlers. In our own immediate neighbor-
hood are many thousands of acres of good, fertile, well located
land which you can buy at a very low price.

This Board of Trade does not deal in land nor anything
else. It only wants to bring you and the land together. The

land is here, waiting for you. It will bring you big harvests
every year and keep on swelling your bank balance.

Let this disinterested Board of Trade advise you about the
farming and stock raising opportunities in thi.<! rich Valley. Tell
us how much land you want, what experience you have had in
farming, approximately what you are prepared to pay for the
land and what resources you have to put it under crop. YOU
DO NOT OBLIGATE YOURSELF IN ANY WAY AND
THE INFORMATION WILL BE KEPT CONFIDENTIAL.
Wewill advise you honestly, frankly, whether there isan oppor-
tunity for you here and if so, where and why. We will bring
you and the land together.

If you have slaved in a more rigorous winter climate, away
from neighbors, away from green trees and clear, running water,
come to the Nechako Valley and enjoy life and prosperity.

Write to-day. Investigate AT ANY RATE. You owe
that to yourself and your family. There is no obligation on
your part and OUR SERVICE IS FREE.

There are several good business openings for pro-
gressive men and women in this fast growing town.
If you are interested write to-day. Remember this
Board of Trade has nothing to sell you.

Board of Trade
Vanderhoof, B.C.

" The Dominating Center of Nechako Valley."

We have nothing to sell.

Fill out, clip and mail this coupon.

C. M. Oct.

Board of Trade,

Vanderhoof, British Columbia.

I wish to get a farm of acres for

at about $ per acre. My resources

are about $ This coupon

does not obligate me in any way.

Name

Address

CANADA MONTHLY

Suppose your children had their choice

of homts to which to go for breakfast. And
one home offered them a. dish like this — Puffed Wheat
or Puffed Rice with
cream and sugar, or
mixed with any fruit.
Dainty grains, flaky,
crisp and tempting —
eight times normal
size. Grains that taste like toasted nuts.
Where would they go for breakfast ?

Suppose your folks, for a dairy-dish

supper, had their choice of bread or crackers,
or Puffed Wheat or Puffed Rice. And they saw these

toasted Puffed Grains
— airy, thin, inviting
— floating in bowls of
milk. Grains four
times as porous as
bread.
Which would they choose for their milk ?

I Puffed Wheat, - 10c |
I Puffed Rice, - - 15c

Except in Extreme West.

These bubbles of grain were created

for you by Prof. A. P. Anderson. They are
scientific foods. Every food granule is blasted to pieces
— blasted by steam explosion. They are both foods and
confections.

There are thr'ee kinds now with three distinct flavors.
Serve them all, and see which your people like best.

Tl^e Quaker QdXs (J)inpany

Sole Makers

(704)

Doc Lamberts
Second Choice

Continued from page 22.

it to be attended to by your friends ?"

"I don't want a grave stone," Doc
answered. "That's another thing
which shows the weakness of most
people. Everybody wants a grave
stone, and why ? It's mere personal
vanity. If a man deserves a grave
stone, all right; but how many men
are entitled to them ? Not one in ten
thousand. I have done nothing to
deserve a grave stone."

"But," said Mrs. Stetson, "I think

you ought to have one, all the same.

Doc Lambert' carved under a marble

iamb would be so appropriate, don't

you think ?"

Doc refused to argue the point.

One Monday morning he came to
the office in a state of wild indignation.

"This is an outrage !" he exclaimed,
slamming his hat on his desk. "By
the Lord, I'm going to find out whether
there is such a thing as justice in this
country or not."

"What has happened ?" asked
Danny Richardson.

"I went out to see my grave yester-
day, and it was gone !"

"Gone ? How could your grave be
gone ?"

"They've cheated me out of it !
They've buried another man in it.
Buried him in my grave, that I've
bought and paid for 1"

"How did that happen ?"

"It happened as ever>'thing else
happens in this world. They robbed
me of my right, that's how it happened.
By thunder, I'll have the law on them!
I'll show them !"

"Didn't they make any explana-
tion ?"

"Certainly. But what, good did
that do? The man was in my grave,
and the explanation didn't take him
out of it. Things have come to a fine
pass if a man can't be sure of his grave
after he's bought and paid for it.
They claimed it was a mistake, but I
don't believe it. They knew I liked
that grave and they went and buried
another man in it just to interfere with
my satisfaction. The world has al-
ways been against me. I felt when I
got my grave that it was too good to
be true. I've been expecting from
the first that they'd find some way to
keep me out of it."

"Well," said Mrs. Stetson, "they
will, of course, have to refund your
money or give you another grave."

She spoke with kindly sympathy,
for Doc seemed to take it so hard that
we all felt a bit sorry for him.

"They've offered me another grave
in place of it," he admitted, "but it
won't be like the grave I've lost. I

CANADA MONTHLY

picked out that grave because it some-
how appealed to me.* I'd got used to
going out there and sitting on it, too,
and thinking of the good, long rest I
was going to have in\it. It was a
comfort to me. You people who have
never been robbed of graves can't
realize how it gives one the feeling
of being left out in the world, home-
less."

"I should think," said Danny Rich-
ardson, "that you could get them to ■
dig up the man they've buried there,
so that you might have the grave for
your own use, after all."

"No," Doc sadly replied, "it's spoiled
forever, as far as I'm concerned. "I'd
no more think of having myself buried
in a grave that had been used by soine-
body else than I'd think of wearing
a suit of clothes some other man had
worn." •

"Cheer up," Mrs. Stetson urged.
"There are plenty of good graves left.
You may find another that will suit
you just as well as this one did. Who
knows ?"

"I'm to go out next Sunday," he
said, "to look over their stock of empty
graves, but I don't much expect that
I'll find any to please me. And even
if I do, how can I be sure they'll not
make another mistake ? I supposed a
graveyard was one place where they'd
be careful — where a man could be sure
they'd let him have the little patch
of ground he was entitled to; but
there's no such thing as fairness any
more, and nothing is sure. If I find a
grave that suits me this time I'm going
to get into it before they have a
chance to chuck anybody else in ahead
of me."

By a rare streak of good luck —
according to Doc's belief any kind of
a streak of good luck was rare in his
case — he found another grave that
appeared to be splendidly suited to his
needs. It was in a remote part of the
graveyard and in some ways it pleased
him even better than he had been
pleased with the grave he had lost.
Doc was not easily pleased.

"I can't think of a single fault that
it has," he said with something like a
touch of pride. "It lies at the top of
a little slope, so I shall not have to
fear contamination. There is no tree
near it, either, so there's not much
danger that women or children will
come there to sit in the shade, and
that's a comfort. I'm going to like
I his grave, and I hope to get safely
moved into it before snow flies."

After he had filed away the deed to
his new grave he announced that he
had found a new and delightful method
of self-destruction. It was described
in a clipping which he produced.
Without asking whether we cared to
iiear it or not he read the delectal)le
story of a man who had used a hypo-

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Two Shredded Wheat Biscuits with milk or cream
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illliillUlll

dermic needle to inject into his veins a
liquid which had caused instant and
painless death, without producing any
distortion of the body or features or
causing ever a drop of blood to escape.
"This," said Doc in a tone of
triumph, "is the thing I've been look-
ing and waiting for. There is some-
thing about it that appeals to the
aesthetic sensibilities. It is at once
artistic and thoroughly effective.
There is no danger of bungling or
making a mess of it. Once the needle

has been applied, it is all over. One
need not be afraid of being ircum-
vented by officious meddlers. I con-
sider it a fortuitous combination of
circumstances that this should come
to my notice just at the time when I
have got everything about my new
grave satisfactorily arranged."

Mrs. Stetson had been stricken with
illness a day or two before Doc came
into possession of his new grave, and
we were considerably disturbed when
we were informed that her malady

(l^^^^^f^(j&yJ AJ^^t^ytfUy

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Canada Monthly, Toronto, Ont.

CANADA MONTHLY

had developed into typhoid fever.
It appeared that she had been almost
starving herself in order to maintain a
home for her children, the consequence
being that her system was so enfeebled
as to make her recovery doubtful.

The boys in the office got up a purse
to keep the children supplied with food
and care, but the amount we were
able to raise was merely sufficient to
maintain the widow's little establish-
ment for a week or two at the most.
Barton & Smart had not been prosper-
ing lately and they did not feel disposed
to pay Mrs. Stetson's salary, since it
had been necessary to engage another
stenographer in her place.

Of course we didn't ask Doc Lam-
bert to subscribe and he expressed no
desire to contribute. In fact we were
so much concerned over the brave
little woman's misfortunes that we
forgot Doc's new grave and his suicidal
intentions until one morning when, he
failed to put in an appearance at the
office. Even then we attached no
importance to his absence, nor did
anybody begin to worry about him
until three days later. Then his land-
lady telephoned in to ask if anybody
knew where he was. She reported
that he had mysteriously disappeared,
after paying her in full, and she was
afraid "something might have hap-
pened to him."

Doc's talk about committing suicide
had never been taken seriously by any
of us, but his unexplained disappear-
ance caused us to have grave mis-
givings. We made inquiries of the
police and looked up the records of the
morgues, but no trace of him was dis-
covered. He had vanished without
leaving any more evidence of the man-
ner of his departure than if he had
been a wraith.

Two weeks after Doc's departure
Danny Richardson and I went out to
Mount Hope to discover whether he
occupied his grave or not. It was
curious that none of us had thought
of doing so before. Naturally his
grave ought to have been the first
place in which we might have expected
to find him; yet, after all, the grave is
usually the last place in which any
one is found. Perhaps an uncon-
scious realization of that fact had
caused us to inquire everywhere else
first.

It was a beautiful Sunday morning,
late in October. The leaves had
turned enough to make the cemetery
brilliant and almost cheerful. It
seemed a shame that any one had to
be dead on such a day. At an office
near the gate we made inquiries. The
man who had charge of the records
recalled our friend at once.

"Yes," he said, "I remember him.
A bit queer, I should say. It was too
bad about that mistake we^made, but

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CANADA MONTHLY

such things will happen even in the
best regulated cemeteries. Still, he
got ''a better grave than if he'd kept
the first one. It's better suited to him."

"I suppose," said Danny, "you try
to give people graves that are becoming
to them, just as a tailor endeavors to
make a man's clothes in the style that
will set him off to the best advantage ?"

"Sure," the cemetery man replied.
"Now you take your friend. The best
kind of a grave for him is one that's
back, pretty well where there won't
be any danger of women and children
runnin' over it. It's too bad he gave
it up. He'll not get another like it in
a hurry."

"Do you mean that he isn't using his
grave ?" Danny asked.

"He sold it a couple of weeks ago.
I guess he made a little something on it,
but he was foolish to let it go. What
good'll the profit he made out of it do
him when he needs the grave ?"

This was reassuring. We ha^ felt
some reluctance about asking point-
blank whether Doc was in his grave,
probably because we were afraid to
learn the truth. When we found that
he had not been buried we secured
directions concerning the location of
the grave and decided to have a look
at it to satisfy our curiosity. On
reaching it we found Doc sitting on a
little mound near by. He nodded
sadly in response to our greeting.

"What's the trouble. Doc ?" Danny
asked. "We hear you've sold your
grave." ^

"Yes," he said, "I've given it up."

"Decided that it didn't suit you,
after all, eh ?"

"No, it was just what I wanted.
It's a good grave. I'm sorry I couldn't
keep it. I hope to be able to buy it
back some day, but I suppose I'll be
disappointed. I've never had any luck."

"Where have you been all this time ?
We supposed you were dead."

"Never mind where I've been. It's
good of you boys to be interested in
me, but let it go at that. You needn't
worry any more. I'll have to live on
now._ My grave's gone, and there's
nothing for me to do but take up my
burdens and carry them along."

He returned to work the next day,
without ofTering any explanation of
his absence and he lost no time in
permitting us to understand that he
did not care to be questioned about
the matter.

A few weeks after Mrs. Stetson had
recovered she came to the office one
afternoon when Doc happened to be
out. We learned then that he had
sold his grave for the purpose of raising
money to provide for the widow's
children after our little fund had been
exhausted. His absence had been due
to the fact that he had gone to another
city to dispose of certain building lots

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on which it had been his purpose to
establish a home for aged and indigent
unfrocked ministers.

As our former stenographer was
leaving Danny Richardson asked:

"Does he still expect to commit
suicide ?"

There was a twinkle in her eyes as
she replied:

"He has burned his clippings and is
teaching our little boy to say grace at
meals."

The Jade Earring

Continued from page 26.
"On the canvas," he said, "was a
carefully painted portrait of a very
beautiful young girl. Young — oh, I
should say in her middle twenties. It
must have taken two or three sittings
— three, anyway, of pretty fast, skilful
painting — to have carried it as far as
it was. The last of them must have
been that very morning, because part

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.-■^■•' •
of the paint on the canvas was wet. It
hadn't even dried on the palette. The
thing was obviously a portrait of the
painter.

"The outline of the rim of the palette
showed in the lower part of the canvas,
but as if held in the right hand, as of
course it always is when you sit down
in front of the mirror and paint a por-
trait of yourself. She had even indicated
the frame of the mirror on the canvas.
It was all perfectly solid and real.
As I said, the thing was well painted,
though not brilliantly nor trickily at
all — an excellent, an extraordinarily
talented piece of work. It wasn't com-
pleted. In fact, part of the canvas
wasn't covered at all. It was one of
my canvases — a gray one like that
blank I turned around just now."

"Well, you had something tangible
to go on at last," said I. "What did
you do ?"

"It was hardto decide what to do,"
said JefTrey. "I didn't go up in the
air at all. The fact that I had some-
thing tangible was, in its way, a sort
of relief. And I still think what I de-
cided was the best thing I could have
done — that was to just stay there in
that studio until something happened.
I made up my mind not to leave the
room for more than thirty seconds,
until that mysterious painter" — he
stopped and gave a shivering little
laugh — "the ghost girl, came back.
I thought she would come back, and
that before many hours.

"Well, I waited. Spent most of
the time smoking, staring at the por-
trait. I studied it — learned every
brush-stroke in it. I could repaint it
now from memory. I stayed there for
thirty-six hours, without leaving the
room but once. That time I went up
to my kitchenette and got a box of bis-
cuits. I wasn't gone more than half a
minute and everything was just as I
had left it when I came back. But at
the end of the thirty-six hours — that
was at two in the morning — my endur-
ance gave out and I lay down on my
divan, there in the studio, for what I
thought would be a cat-nap. I'm a
light sleeper. I didn't think it possible
for anybody to get into that room with-
out waking me instantly. I suppose I
slept pretty hard. When I wakened it
was ten o'clock the next morning."

"And the portrait ?"

"The portrait was gone. The mir-
ror, the easel, the stool, were all back
in their places — even my palette and
brushes were back on the table where
I'd left them when I started for Etaples.
I hadn't a thing to show — no way of
proving to anybody except myself,
that I hadn't dreamed the whole thing.
Thank God, I could prove it to my-
self ! The colors that were left on
the palette were not the ones that had
been on it when I went away. That I

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am ready to swear to, unless I'm crazy.
What is your opinion about it ? Do
you want to call a taxi and take me
up to Bellevue ? You haven't heard
it all, but perhaps you've heard
enough."

"No, I want it all," said I, "every-
thing that you can remember — every
detail, no matter how irrelevant it
seems to you."

"I rather think," said Jeffrey, "that
what I've told you is all, so far as the
Paris mystery goes. I'm really satis-
fied that the adventure on the bridge
was pure imagination and nothing else.
In point of fact, it might have been a
dream."

"Never mind," said I; "I want
dreams and all."

"Why, the night before I left Paris,"
said Jeffrey, "that was about the
middle of March— a warm night like
spring. I hadn't been able to sleep.
About four o'clock in the morning I
dressed and went out, wandering
around. It must have been about five
when I brought up on the Pont Royal.
The air was very thick with mist. I
had on a rain-coat, I remember, in-
stead of an overcoat, and the steam in
that warm air condensed and trickled
down as if it had really been raining.
It was a lovely sight, really. There
was a fag-end of a moon trying to
light up the mist and it made every
smooth, horizontal surface shine like
silver—the flat decks of the barges in
the river. It was all very restful and
still.

"I seemed to have the world to my-
self for a few minutes; but very soon
a woman came along, stopped, and
leaned against the rail close beside me.
I supposed she was some one who had
marked me as possible game and had
been following along, waiting for a
good chance to speak to me. I was
about to move away when I noticed
that she seemed perfectly unconscious
of my presence. I couldn't see her
face at all, just a shape. Shewas all
wrapped up in one of those rain-proof
cloaks, with the hood pulled up over
her head.

"She stayed there a long time star-
ing down at the river and the boats,
just as I had been doing before she
came. The funny thing was that her
being there made me uncomfortable.
It was a little bit like a nightmare — ■
perhaps it really was a nightmare — •
because I wanted to go away and I
couldn't. I didn't want to speak to
her and yet it seemed that I must.

"Presently I heard footsteps and
that seemed to break the spell a little.
They were coming from behind me, so
I turned to look. They were a couple
of gendarmes tramping along on their
route. I heard a little movement be-
side me and turned to look at the girl.
The sound had attracted her attention

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too. She was looking in my direction,
but wasn't looking at me at all — just
in the direction of the sound — and the
hood had fallen from her head and
— well, she was the girl of the portrait,
the ghost girl.

"I felt then as if I'd known it was
she from the moment I saw her stand-
ing there. She didn't make a sound,
but her eyes widened a little as the
gendarmes came nearer and she turned
and fled, vanishing in the mist. When
they came opposite me they slowed
down and looked at me a bit curiously
and passed on. They didn't pay any
attention to the girl. I suppose the ex-
planation is that I fell asleep there on
the bridge and dreamed about the girl,
as I often did dream about her, and
that the coming of the gendarmes
waked me up."

"Well," said I, "let us be thankful
for a reasonable explanation where we
can get one. Undoubtedly that is the
explanation in this case."

Jeffrey drew a long, unsteady
breath. "I wish I could say 'undoubt-
edly' in that tone of voice about any-
thing. Drew, people can talk all they
like about the tortures of the Inquisi-
tion and so on, but the most exquisite
torture in the world is a doubt about
the validity of your own observations.
That's the thing that's driving me — :
pretty near crazy. I can't trust my
own sense any more."

To be continued.

In the Forefront

Continued from page 35.

want to be interviewed, but if there is
anything I can do for you financially
or otherwise, why you have but to
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"Mr. Burns," interrupted the scrib-
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means more to me than an inside tip
on the stock market. I have had men
beg me to give them just a little
publicity, but never before have I met
a man that honestly didn't want it."

"Why should I want to ? Look at
those books," and Mr. Burns pointed
to four shelves piled with books and
magazines, "everyone of them con-
tains something about me and some
day when I get time I will read one or
tw^o of them," said the cattle king
whimsically.

"Well, thanks very much, Mr. Burns,
for the interview," the reporter was
grinning.

"Oh, that's all right. Don't men-
tion it. Any time, young man, you
want to talk beef come over and see
■me. I will always be glad to hear you
discuss it," and the cattle king smiled
his adieu.

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CANADA MONTHLY ADVERTISER

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The Honorable Percival $1.00
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Ariadne of Allan Water $1.25

By SIDNEY McCALL

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DO YOUR CHRISTMAS BUYING
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William Briggs

PUBLISHER

29-37 Richmond Street West
TORONTO : : ONT.

CANADA MONTHLY

The Pedlars Pack

Continued from page 40.

the woodland on its wandering mission
of propagation. "There is no death;
what seems so is transition." The
little creatures that are preparing to
hibernate; those millions of dormant l!j
forces that lie in the womb of the|i:
earth waiting till the call of the young f-
year brings them forth again, are sleep- ^
ing, not dead. So, mayhap, is it with ^
our lost ones. What seems death is
transition.

I see them, the radiant sisters. Sum-
mer and Autumn, standing with locked
hands in the glory of the rich day upon
the hill yonder. Soft hangs the mist
over the brow of the earth. Peaceful
lie the wide plains under the gracious
sunshine. The flame is dying from
the woods, as the leaves drop slowly,
softly. For a moment the glory lin-
gers. Summer, with a parting glance,
steps swiftly adown the hill, and is lost
in the brooding mist. Slowly, with
reluctant feet, tawny Autumn follows,
moving gently with many a backward
look. A chill falls over the graying
world. Who is it that comes striding
across the hills, with resonant foot-
steps, turning the violet mist to ice with
the breath of his nostrils ?

"There's a new foot on the floor, my friend,
And a new face at the door, my friend,
A new face at the door."

GOD'S TRAMP

T^ID I say Mr. Puddlebox ? Do you
^-^ want to laugh ? — to be happy ?
Then get acquainted with this dear,
this lovable, this very gallant tramp.
Perhaps you know Neil Lyons and
"Cottage Pie"? No? Alas! I
grieve with you. Mr. Puddlebox, like
Sam Weller, is in a book— but he is
greater than Sam in this that he laid
down his life for a brother. The name
of the book ? Why, "The Clean
Heart," by A. S. M. Hutchinson (Mc-
Clelland, Goodchild & Stewart, Tor-
onto.) Suppose we talk about it from
the reader's outlook — not the critic's.
I opened it in the middle, one night
when sleep had flown, and before two
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"What !" said I, like old George IV.
"What ! What !" For I had met
Puddlebox.

There will be many pages, son,
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Poignant and tender and Christlike
is the end of Puddlebox, the tramp and
the outcast and God's good man. I
can but end with his cry, the cry of
the poor, drowning tramp who shrank

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CANADA MONTHLY

terrified in the face of fearful and
lonely Death:

"O ye sea of the Lord, bless ye the
Lord: Praise Him and magnify Him
forever !"

Good -by &, Toronto

Continued from page 38.

long lines of khaki-clad figures march-
ing in service array along the road
from the big camp to Quebec, where
the transports lay, tied up ready to be
filled with their human freight and
the accompanying stores.

If you had stood on the wide ter-
race, you would have looked in vain
at first for a sign of the ships, then
slowly your eyes would have grown
accustomed to the outlines at the
wharves, and one by one, long grey
shapes would have loomed up, until
you had counted two, three, seven,
ten, of these phantom vessels.

The huge battleship bearing the
admiral of the fleet which convoyed the
transports across, stood like a giant
sentinel, clad in the same ghostly grey.
Another of the largest vessels in port
was banked up with a high wall of new
boards shining in the sun — the trans-
port for all the splendid horses which
were being taken down to the water
side.

The vision of khaki-clad figures has
passed for the moment, and while you
gaze fascinated at those motionless
grey vessels, nestled under the over-
shadowing cliff and the frowning cita-
del, one by one they begin to steal
slowly away with not a sound, not a
whistle, not the creak of a chain nor
the groan of a plank, not even a puff
of smoke to indicate that they are
really living, moving things. They
slip out from beneath the shadows and
like huge grey moths, float silently
down to the mouth of the river.

Hour by hour passes and still, in
perfect silence, the grey transports
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stream. And far into the night, with-
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and creeping away with only a pin-
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black bulk of the Island of Orleans,
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When Pan's Went
to War

Continued from page 27.

me that in two days it might be im-
possible to get bread or meat, as supplies
of every kind would be taken by the
government for the provisioning of
the troops and of Paris.

By this time there was a procession
of flying taxi-cabs coming from Paris,
all loaded down with boxes and bags.

and bundles, and now and then a child's
bed with the mattress flopping on the
top of the canopy, wild-eyed mothers
and scared children wedged in wher-
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were already forbidden to civilians;
suburban trams had stopped running.
Paris was as inaccesible as if she were
the other side of the world, until late
in the afternoon, when I found a Paris
cabby returning after depositing some
refugees in the country, who con-
descendingly agreed to take me and

CANADA MONTHLY ADVERTISER

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running-boards. Double head-lights. Lasting
lustrous finish. Spare tires at rear. Full
Equipment. — Highest quality top. Built-in,
rain vision, ventilating windshield. Demount-
able rims. Spare rim. Warner speedometer.
Clock. Electric horn, etc.

More Comfortable

Perfectly balanced chasses. Long three-
quarter-elliptic rear springs. Ample wheel-
base. Big wheels. New proven two-unit
electric starting and lighting system. New
instrument board (complete control at finger
tips). Left si'ie drive. Center control.
Quick acting Collins side-curtains, opening
with doors, and adjustable from seats.

More Efficient

Latest-type, long-stroke, smooth-running,
high-efficiency engines. More power — less
weight. Saving of fuel, oil and tires. Newest
type ignition. Chrome nickel-steel gears and
shafts. Cleverly designed chasses. Light,
strong, heat-treated steels. Full-floating rear
axle. Worm bevel gears. Double dust-proof
brakes. Very low operative cost per mile.

Five reasons why YOU should drive a Russell " Made in Canada" Car :

1st: The highest-quality car — at the lowest price. Sad: Most comCortable — easiest-riding — smoothest-running car builL
3rd: Built oE finest materials —by expert warkvanship. fully guaranteed and backed by service stations from coast to coast.
4th: Made in Canada— by Canadian workmen —in a Canadian-owaed-and-operated plant.
Sth: A vital unit in Canadian industry — whose success helps to buildup Canadian prosperity —which in turn helps YOU.

Ride in a RU3S£LL to-day. Performance proves its worth.

Agency applications in- ((^ j^,, ci7Cn '<// ? ?" i^ACn "A /IS" (^ ^ rnn Catalogue and full descriP'
vited in open territory 0-oU —$1/0U H-06 --^^OOU 0-^0 —^^OUU ^{^g matter on request

Works and Executive
Offices

WEST TORONTO

RUSSELL MOTOR CAR COMPANY

LIMITED.

Branchesi
TORONTO — HAMILTON
MONTREAL — WINNIPEG
CALGARY— VANCOUVER

CANADA MONTHLY

my three small pieces of hand luggage •
to Paris for fifteen francs ($3).

Exactly five times the regular taxi-
meter rates, as I discovered later, but
need must when snecessity drives,
and I started off — to the Great
Unknown. For so far as I then knew,
not one friend remained in Paris, to
whom I could go for advice or assist-
ance, should the worst eventually
come. At that time, there were no
boats between French ports and Eng-
lish, no transatlantic service from
either country, scarcely any hope that
there would be until the war was over.
That drive from Enghien-les-Bains
to Paris is one of the many unforget-
able experiences of these early days of
warfare. It was a glorious sunshiny
day, with a silver haze in the distance,
the sky a deep blue, the clouds of
purest white, all the greens of trees
and meadows most vivid, and soon
at every turn, every open vista, the
height of Old Montmartre, crowned
by the beautiful cathedral of Sacre
Coeur, making in its ensemble of
composition, architecture, color and
atmosphere, a scene to which only
Turner could do justice. And through
all this peace and beauty, the discord-
ant note of panic-stricken refugees
flying from danger that they feared, to
a safety that was based merely on
hope. Yet in spite of these, it was a
route strangely deserted to one familiar
with the holiday crowds of a Sunday
in France, especially a perfect summer
day such as this. Tram lines were
but unused rails; not a vehicle was
abroad with groups of merry-makers,
for already every horse, every cart
had become, automatically, the prop-
erty of the government. Presently,
along came a company of cuirassiers,
in glittering breastplates and helmets,
and farther on, in the shadow of the
ancient basilica of St. Denis, where
long lines of kings of France have been
buried, and others crowned, a bugler
was sounding his call.

Hotels in the Champs Elysees — or
tourist — section were inadvisable, I
knew , for stiff rates would be much stifTer
— some, indeed, raised prices five times
those charged even during the season
of tourist travel — but through a student
club for women in the schools quarter,
I found a little French hotel within a
stone's throw of the Sorbonne, and
almost in the shadow of the Pantheon,
simple to austerity in its appointments,
bourgeois in every detail, but kept by
people with hearts of gold.

Monday, sensation succeeded sen-
sation. First, in crossing the Place
du Parvis Notre Dame, I looked up
mechanically at the windows of the
studio of some artist friends, whom I
had supposed were safely settled in the
country far from trouble, and to my
surprise, found them open. Mounting

A 25-cent Size

Quaker Oats is put up in both the large 25-cent package
and the 10-cent size. The larger s'ze saves buying so
often — saves running out. Try it — see how long it lasts.

Some Do-

-Some Dan't

Get Vim=F©©dl

Some children go to school on Quaker Oats — perhaps
five millions of them. They get all the vitality, all the
energy that the greatest vim-food can supply them.
Children and grown-ups all need an abundance of this
spirit-giving Quaker.

You know that — -all folks know it.

They get in addition a delicious dish. You serve
nothing so luscious, so tempting to children as well-
cooked Quaker Oats.

Matchless in Taste and Aroma

Quaker Oats comes in big flakes, made only from the plump and
luscious grains. All the puny, starved grains are discarded. So care-
ful are we that we get but ten pounds of Quaker Oats from a bushel.

The Quaker process ncludes hours of dry heat and steam heat,
which enhance the flavor. Thus we bring to the tables of a hundred
nations the most delicious oat dish that's known.

You get this when you ask for Quaker Oats, and you pay no
extra price. Don't you consider that worth while ?

lOc and 25c per Package
Except in Far West

CANADA MONTHLY ADVERTISER

av INVITATION

MtMBtR or

$1425

Model 80
f. o. b. Hamilton, Ontario

Every Advanced Feature
But no Advance in Price

•I The new Overland has one of the most advanced and most

admired body designs of the season.

^ The new Overland has a larger tonneau.

•H The new Overland has the most advanced and most practical

type of underslung rear springs.

^ The new Overland has the most advanced electric lighting and

electric starting system.

•i The new Overland has the most advanced ignition system.

•H The new Overland has larger wheels and tires.

Yet in spite of these and numerous other advanced and costly
features the price has not been advanced.

Orders are now being taken for immediate delivery.

Motor 3S h.p.
New full stream-line body
Tonneau, longer and wider
Upholstery, deeper and softer
Windshield, rain vision,
ventilating type, built-in

Specifications:

Electric starter — Electric lights
High-tension magneto —
no dry cells necessary
Thermo-syphon cooling
Five-bearing crankshaft
Rear axle, floating type

Handsome catalogue on request. Please address Dept.

Wheelbase, 114 inches
34 inch X 4 inch tires
Demountable rims — 1 extra
Left-hand drive — Centre control
Body : beautiful new Brewster
green finish

The Willys-Overland of Canada Limited, Hamilton, Ont.

(Model SO)

Model 81 Prices:
6 Passenger Touring Car - $1135
2 Passenger Roadster - $1066

Model 80 Prices:

5 Passenger Touring Car - $1425

2 Passenger Roadster - - $1390

4 Passenger Coupe - - $2150

AU prices f. o. b. Hamilton, Ontario

Model 81 Prices
Delivery Wagon with closed

body - - - - $1195
Delivery Wagon with open body $1135

CANADA MONTHLY

the stairs, I found their plans had
failed and that they, like myself, were
anchored in Paris. Selfishly, I was
glad, and what I would have done
without them all in the trying days
that followed, I cannot imagine. I
had been there but a few minutes when
Mr. M — entered somewhat out of
breath.

"The mobs areout!"hesaid abruptly.
"I have been dodging them all the
morning. They are smashing all the
Maggi Milk company's shops, all the
German stores and restaurants and
singing the Marseillaise — there's one
now!" he broke off excitedly, and
rushing to the window, we looked down
from our height across the Seine to see
a swirling crowd, looking scarcely
bigger than gnats, battering their way
into a "brasserie" across from Notre
Dame, and when nothing was left of
glass windows or even window frames,
or furnishings or contents, swirling out
again, and marching in disorderly
lines to the centre of the square, break-
ing out into the thrilling strains of the
Marseillaise. There are no words
adequate to express the effect that the
Marseillaise has at such a time as this.
It drives men wild, and turns even an
indifferent spectator into a revolution-
ist for the moment. There are tones
in it that seem to be wrung from the
very heart of a whole people. As I
left, Mr. M — said,

"Keep to the broad, main streets.
Avoid the narrow streets and all crowds
for a day or two, until the people have
had a chance to get over their German-
ophobia. They would know you are
a foreigner, and might not discover you
weren't a German until something
disagreeable had happened."

So with a little half thrill I left and
made my way along the quai to the
famous Boulevard St. Michel — the
"Boul' Mich' " beloved of generations
of students. Several blocks up the
hill, on the opposite side of the street,
I noticed a crowd of people, but as
they appeared to be standing quietly,
I thought it nothing more than a crowd
reading bulletins. Just before I came
up to them, however, two large motor-
cars packed full of police dashed up,
emptied out in the twinkling of an eye,
and charged the crowd, pushing them
here and there with their hands — the
Paris policeman is not allowed to carry
even a billy, and under normal con-
ditions is permitted merely to tell a
man to "come along," or "move on,"
or "behave now," and in a trice the
mob was scattering like a lot of fright-
ened sheep. Then I saw that though
they might have been standing quietly
when I first saw them, it was the quiet
of nothing left to do. That little shop,
once so clean and attractive in its
spotless white furnishings, was ab-
Continued on page 69.

Your Enemies

as a Tire User are

Rim-Cuts, Blow -Outs, Loose Treads,
Punctures, Skidding

Note How we Combat them in

No-Rim-Cut Tires

Made in Canada.

Needless Tire Troubles

Rim-Cuts— the chief est tire troubles
—are utterly needless. They are ended
completely — in a faultless way — in
Goodyear No-Rim-Cut tires.

Blow-Outs, in large part, are due
to wrinkled fabric. Our "On-Air"
cure eliminates this cause. This ex-
clusive Goodyear process adds greatly
to our own cost.

Loose Treads we combat by a
patent method. Hundreds of large
rubber rivets are formed in each tire,
reducing this risk 60 per cent.

Punctures are minimized in our
All- Weather tread. It is tough and
double-thick.

Skidding is best
combated by this
same exclusive
tread. The grips
are sharp, deep, re-
sistless. Yet the
tread is flat and

regular. It runs as smoothly as a
plain tread.

Save These Losses

Save the avoidable troubles. Get
all the safety, strength and mileage
that you can. Then you have the
utmost in a tire.

That is what Goodyear gives you.
In the five ways cited, no oSier maker
offers what we give.

The result is that Goodyear leads.
No other tire commands such pres-
tige or such sale.

And 18 other American and Cana-
dian makes cost more than Good years.

OODyPYEAR

No-Rim -Cut Tires

With AllWealher Treats or Sicoofh

Tires are not
alike. Only one
tire made offers
these great Good-
year features, Get
it. Learn what it
means to you.

The Goodyear Tire & Rubber Company of Canada,

Head Office: TORONTO, ONT.

LIMITED Factory, BOWMANVILIJE, OlSfT.

FOR SALE BY ALL DEALEJR3

CANADA MONTHLY ADVERTISER

$930,000 Per Week
Paid for HUDSON Cars

$235,600 Paid

by Users in One Day

On September 15 — the day before this is
written— dealers sold to users 152 HUDSON
Six-40's. That is, yesterday buyers of new
cars paid out $235,600 for HUDSONS.

The average has long been $930,000 per
week — because that is the limit of output.
We are building and selling 100 per day.
That is five times as many — five times, mark
you — as we sold at this season last year.
And we had no war then. Our average sales
have more than trebled since August 1st.

Means That Hudson s
Rule This Field

In July — when we brought out this new
model — we trebled our output to cope with
demand. Thirty days later — despite our
best efforts — we were 4,000 cars oversold.

We shipped by express nearly 1,000 cars
to minimize delays. That is, unprecedented.
But thousands of men waited weeks for this
car when other cars were plentiful. No other
could satisfy men who once saw this new-
model HUDSON Six-40.

Five-Fold Increase
An Amazing thing

Consider that the HUDSON has long been
a leading car. Every model for years has
been designed by Howard E. Coffin. He has
brought out in these cars all his new ad-
vances. And the demand for his models —
long before this Six-40— gave HUDSONS
the lead. The first HUDSON Six, inside of
one year, made us the largest builders of six-
cylinder cars in the world.

Think what a car this must be — this new

HUDSON Six-40 — to multiply this popular-
ity by five in one year. And to do it at a
time like this. Thmk how far it must out-
rank all the cars that compete with it. Think
what a tremendous api^eal it must make to
car buyers.

Think how it attracts — how it must excel —
when in times like these they pay $930,000
per week for it. And they would have paid
more had we had the cars to deliver — as
shown by yesterday's sales of 152 cars.

The HUDSON Sue -40 is to-day the largest
selling car in the world with a price above
$1,800.

See the Car That Did It
Howard E. Coffin's Best

Go now and see this model — the car whose
record is unmatched in the annals of this line.
You will see a quality car sold at a price
which is winning men by theJhousands from
lower-grade cars.

You will see a class car — in many respects
the finest car of the day — sold at one-third
what class cars used to cost.

You will see how clever designing and
costly materials have saved about 1,000
pounds in weight. And in this light car —
the lightest seven-seat car — you will see one
of the sturdiest cars ever built. You will see

Six-40

HUDSON

$2,100

a new-type motor which has cut down opera"
tive cost about 30 per cent.

You will see new beauties, new ideas in
equipment, new comforts, new conveniences.
You will see scores of attractions you have
never seen before.

They are all in this masterpiece of Howard
E. Coffin, who has long been the leading
American designer. This is his finished
ideal of a car, and many count him final
authority.

Mr. Coffin has worked for four years on
this model, with 47 other HUDSON engi-
neers. Part by part, they have refined to tTie
limit every detail of the car.

This is the acceptable proven type. This
lightness, beauty, economy and price are new-
day standards which men are demanding.
And this quality — Howard E. Coffin's level
best — is the least men will take when they
know.

Now is the Time

Now is the time to pick out your new car.
Next year's models are out now. You see
what the field has to offer. And the best
touring months are before you — the Indian
Summer days. Get your new car and enjoy
them.

If you buy a class car, this new HUDSON
Six-40 is the car you'll want. The exclusive
features which have won so much favor are
bound to appeal to you. Your dealer will
see that you get your car promptly if we have
to ship by express.

Five New-Styles Bodies:
7-Passenger Phaeton, $2,100
3-Passenger Roadster, $2,100
3-Passenger Cabriolet, $2,376
4 -Passenger Coupe, $2,900
Luxurious Limousine, $3,460
All Models quoted above f. o. b. Detroit,
Duty Paid.

HUDSON MOTOR CAR COMPANY, 7932 Jefferson Ave., Detroit, Mich.

(209)

You need
not shake
this bottle

SAUCE]

is so perfectly blended —
there is no sediment — tlie
last drop is i;s
idd'cious us
the first.

John Labatt ''^^ London

LIHITED OUT.

All "ARLINGTON COLLARS" are good,
but our CUAUENGE BRAND Is the best

CANADA MONTHLY

Napoleon Wins

Continued from page 13.

"Why, daddy, he's a regular, sure-
for-truly, cross-my-heart, hope-to-my-
die fellow."

He looked at her in affectionate won-
der.

"If you had all those words in your
system, I am glad you got them out,"
said he. "Modern language is some-
what of a shock to me, I must confess,
but after all, it is not an unpleasurable
shock. By the way, I formed about
the same impression of your Pole Smith
that you've given me. He's good to
look at, and I've been remembering
that wonderful grin of his all morning.
It's like a drink of good wine."

"He's a perfectly grand grinner; he
invented it, I think," agreed Marjorie,
and they went to lunch.

That evening, just before closing
time, Hammond looked suddenly up
from his memoranda and snapped:

"Bluffing, did you see about securing
that adjoining tract of land for the
extension of the Eureka Works ?"

"Why— no," faltered Mr. Bluffing,
"I haven't seen to it yet."

"You haven't 1" roared Hammond,
"Bluffing, I am going to pain you. I
have threatened to myself a million
times to fire you, and this time I am
going to make good. Go do business
with the cashier, and don't bother to
come back and shake hands. Good-
by. You'll find your hat upon its
accustomed hook."

That evening, after having accepted
the angry resignation of the girl with
the straw-colored hair, the captain
took a train fifteen minutes earlier than
his accustomed one, and stopped at
the gray cottage of the Smiths' on his
way up to his own big stone residence
at the end of the boulexard. In answer
to his ring a very pretty brown-haired
girl came to the door, and Captain
Hammond, whose heart was growing
younger through the day's experiences,
fairly beamed upon her.

"My goodness me ! And you're one
of the grown-up Smith children, too,
aren't you ?" he said, as one just awak-
ening to a startling discovery.

"Yes, Captain Hammond," she re-
plied, dimpling. "I'm June. Don't
you remember, you used to give us
peppermint drops ? You always had
them in your pocket."

"Why, so I did !" he exclaimed, de-
lighted. "My ! I'd forgotten about
that. I must get into the habit again.
I'm afraid I'm growing old. Where's
your brother ?"

"Oh, he's up at your house playing
tennis, I think. We were just going
up to join them," and she looked back
over her shoulder and smiled, as a
chubby young fellow of about twenty-
two strolled out hatless and saluted

IouickT

MOST PERFECT MADE

THE INCREASED NUTRITI-
OUS VALUE OF BREAD MADE
IN THE HOME WITH ROYAL
YEAST CAKES SHOULD BE
SUFFICIENT INCENTIVE TO
THE CAREFUL HOUSEWIFE
TO GIVE THIS IMPORTANT
FOOD ITEM THE ATTENTION
TO WHICH IT IS JUSTLY EN-
TITLED.

HOME BREAD BAKING RE-
DUCES THE HIGH COST OF
LIVING BY LESSENING THE
AMOUNTOF EXPENSIVE
MEATS REQUIRED TO SUP-
PLYTHE NECESSARY NOUR-
ISHMENT TO THE BODY.

E. W. GILLETT CO. LTD.

TORONTO, ONT.
WINNIPEG MONTREAL

RED
MAN

Our New Tango Collar

20c. or 3 for 50c.

SUITA BLE FOR EVENI^Q WEAR. ALSO VERY SWELL FOR DAY WEAR

A triumph of the collar maker's art in a tab collar.
Possessing to the highest degree the distinctiveness
of style and wearing qualities that differentiate the
Red Man Brand from all others.

For Sale by Canada's Best Men's Stores

EARL & WILSON • New York

Makers of Troy's best product.

CANADA MONTHLY

Like a New
Car

WASH OFF the dirt
with the hose, and
then give it a tho-
rough grooming with

ioe#

It makes your auto look
Hke a new machine. lOCO
LIQUID GLOSS, feeds the
varnish, keeps it from
cracking and gives it a
bright, lasting lustre.

lOCO LIQUID GLOSS
cleans, polishes and dis-
infects all wooden surfaces.
A little on the dust cloth
makes house-cleaning twice
as easy and twice as
effective.

In half-pint, pint, quart,
half-gallon and five gallon
lithographed tins; also in
barrels and half barrels; at
furniture and hardware
stores everywhere.

THE IMPERIAL OIL
COMPANY, LIMITED

Toronto Quebec Regina

Ottawa St. John Vancouver

Halifax Winnipeg Edmonton

Montreal Calgary Saskatoon

with a flourish 7of This
said the captain;

the captain
hand.

"Hello, Peters !'
"you're a great one. I never see you
twice with the same girl."

"Hush !" said Billy Peters in a care-
ful burles()ue of a confidential under-
tone. "I don't dare encourage any
of them too much." And he gave a
fine imitation of a man yawning.

"Some of these days, my boy,"
warned the captain, laughing, "you're
going to be so hard hit that it will make
a man of you. By the way, June, I'm
suddenly so interested in all you young
people that I forgot my errand. I
understand that your brother is looking
for a position."

"Oh, no !" she said, beaming with
sisterly pride, "he found one this morn-
ing."

Then the captain, who usually tried
to be most circumspect in the company
of ladies, forgot himself.

"Hell !" he said.

III.

Napoleon Smith had "scouted" in
perhaps a dozen places before he found
a good Samaritan who led him to the
offices of Forsythe and Spencer, who
needed a man of exactly Napoleon
Smith's height and breadth and energy
and grin. They called themselves pro-
moters, did Forsythe and Spencer, al-
though they chiefly promoted real
estate deals and would follow a dollar
through Hades, or until they had
annexed it. Forsythe's hair, face,
mustache and beard were the color of
a dish of ice cream, and he looked up
at one through shrewd old eyes which
bored down through the soul to the
pockets. He looked down through the
soul of Napoleon Smith, but could not
see into the pockets for a grin blocked
the .way.

"Yes, Mr. Smith," he quavered in
his high-pitched and nasal voice, "we
do need a man, but I'm afraid from
what you tell me that you haven't had
enough business experience."

Young Smith did a little soul read-
ing of his own.

"Assuming that you are correct," he
said, "how much money would you be
willing to pay me ?"

"Ten dollars a week," stated Mr.
Forsythe.

Napoleon grinned. Forsythe liked
that grin; he knew it had commercial
value, and he waited with concealed
anxiety for the answer.

"Ten dollars a week," repeated
young Smith. "And what would I be
expected to do ?"

"Anything you're told."

"No," decided Mr. Smith. "One
gets more money for that. We'll say
about twenty-five dollars, and even
then there'd have to be reservations."

Around the corners of Forsythe's

SEAL

COFFEE

The

Finishing Touch

To A

Perfect Meal

CHASE & SANBORN

MONTREAL.

147

Vsed in every civilized
country on earth. Best
and cheapest light for
homes, stores, factories
and public buildings
Makes you independent of
lighting companies. Over
axi styles. Every lamp war-
ranted. Makes and burns its
own gas. 100 to 2,000 caadle-
power. Agents wanted. Write
to-day for citalogue and prices.
THE BEST LIGHT CO
463 East 5tb Street
Canton, O

CANADA iMONTHLY

mouth there came an unfamiliar twitch,
and after a hard struggle the corners
turned upward.

"I see," he said. "Well, Mr. Smith,
suppose we leave the question of salary
an open one. Suppose you work with
us for two weeks. At the end of that
time, we'll sit down and have a good
quarrel upon the matter of pay."

"I'll take you," said Napoleon, with
an alacrity which almost startled the
older man.

"Come in and meet Mr. Spencer,"
he said, grimly. Young Smith had a
disposition to be too cocksure of him-
self, he feared.

Mr. Spencer proved to be an iron-
gray-haired man of about forty-five,
who acknowledged the introduction to
Mr. Smith with a grunt and dismissed
him with another. But after the new
employee had gone out, he said :

"He'll do. I'd break him in on
showing people around the Sunnyview
addition."

So it came about that Napoleon
Smith was put out in Sunnyview, so
'called because it rained there in sym-
pathy with every other spot in the
United States, and began the Herculean
'task of selling building lots to pro-
spective home seekers. The first week
he was well-nigh discouraged, for, in
spite of all his engaging efforts and his
pleasing personality, and even despite
his grin, the flock of people attracted
by the Forsythe and Spencer advertis-
ing came and looked at the appalling
forsakenness of the place and went
away; and by Saturday noon he had
only sold eight lots.

That was not the way they put it in
the office of Forsythe and Spencer,
however.

"What do you think of that Smith
boy ?" said Forsythe, rubbing his
bloodless old hands together. "He
sold eight of those Sunnyview stickers.
It's a record for that type of place. I
never thought we could get it mov-
ing."

"Keep him out there," advised Mr.
Spencer sagely. "And tell him he'll
have to do better if he's going to stay
with us."

A hint to that effect on the following
Tuesday, however, set Napoleon, here-
tofore humble, upon his defense.

"I'm doing the best I can, and hope
to do better," he declared. "What
ought my sales to reach ?"

"Well — um — not less than fifteen
lots," stated For.sythe, his grasping
soul leaping at the idea that Smith
might be spurred on to that figure.

The younger man was silent for a
moment, looking into the beady little
wrinkled eyes of his employer.

"How much profit do you make on
those lots ?" he-suddenly asked.

Mr. Forsythe visibly winced.

"Profits !" he exclaimed. "Um—

CANADA'S FACTORIES

will be enabled to run full time only if we
all buy " Made-in-Canada" goods every time.

KELLOGG'S

TOASTED CORN FLAKES

is the ojily food under the name KELLOGG
that is " Made-in-Canada." All others are
imported and do not help Canadian work-
people.

Your money spent on "Made-in-Canada"
goods remains in this country and helps
Canadians.

KELLOGG'S TOASTED CORN FLAKES

Made in London, Ontario, Canada

THE

Canadian Bank of Commerce

HEAD OFFICE

TORONTO

CAPITAL $15,000,000 REST $13,500,000

SIR EDMUND WALKER, C.V.O., LL.D.. DCL.. President

ALEXANDER LAIRD

General Manager

V. C. BROWN. Superintendent of Central Western Branches

JOHN AIRD

Assistant General Manager

BRANCHES THROUGHOUT CANADA, AND IN LONDON. ENGLAND. ST. JOHN'S.
NEWFOUNDLAND. THE UNITED STATES AND MEXICO

SAVINGS BANK DEPARTMENT

Interest at the current rate is allowed on all deposits of $1.00 and
upwards. Small accounts are welcomed. Accounts may be opened in
the names of two or more persons, withdrawals to be made by any one of
the number.

Accounts can be opened and operated by mail as easily as by a
personal visit to the bank.

CANADA MONTHLY

Write to-day for particulars of my

TREE TRIAL OFFER-

A MAN tried to sell me a horse once. He said it was a fine horse and had nothing the
matter with it. I wanted a fine horse, but. I didn't know anything about horses
much And I didn't know the man very well cither.

So I told him I wanted to try the horse for a month. He said "All right, but pay
me first, and I'll give you back your money if the horse isn't alright."

Well, I didn't like that. I was afraid the horse wasn't "all right" and that I might
have to whistle for my money if I once parted with It. So 1 didn't buy the borse,
although I wanted it badly. Now this set me thinking.

You see, I make Washing Machines — the "1900 Gravity" Washer.
And I said to myself, lots of people may think about me and my Washing Ma-
chine as I thought about the horse, and about the man uho owned it.

But I'd never know, because they wouldn't write and tell me. You see.i sell my
Washing Machines by mail. I have sold over halfa million that way. So, thought I,
it is only fair enough to let people try my Washing Machines for a month, brfore they
pay for them, just as I wanted to try the horse.

Now, I know what our "1900 Gravity" Washer will do. I know it will wash the
clothes, without wearing or tearing them, in less than half the time tlicy can be
washed by hand or by any other machine.

I know it will wash a tub full of very dirty clothes in Six minutes. I know no
other machine ever invented can do that without wearing
the clothes. Our " 1900 Gravity " Washer does the work so Power

easy that a child can run it almost as well as a strong woman, "• ""'^'

and it don't wear the clothes, fray the edges nor break but- WasherS

tons, the way all other machines do.

It just drives soapy water clear through the fibres of the
clothes like a force pump might

So said I to myself, I will do with my "1900 Gravity*' Washer
what I wanted the man to do with the horse. Only I won't wait for people to ask me. I'll
offer first, and I'll make good the offer every time.
Let me send you a "1900 Gravity" Washer on

Our " Gravity '* derign
givrs greatest ronienience,
<M uell as ease o/oprraticn
xvith quick and thorough
work. Do not overlook the
detachable tub feature.

.._, _ MONTH'S FREE TRIAL. I'll pay

the freight out of my own pocket, and if you don't want the machine after you've used
it a month. I'll take it back and pay the frciKht too. Surely that is fair enough, isn't it ?

Doesn't it prove that the "1900 Gravity" Washer must be all that I say it is ?

And you can pay me out of what it saves for you. It will save its whole cost In a few
months in wear and tear on the clothes alone And then it will save 50 to 75 cents a week
over that on washwoman's wages. If you keep the machine after the month's trial. I'll
let you pay for it out of what it saves you. If it saves you 60 cents a week send me 50c a
week til! paid for. I'll take that cheerfully, and I'll wait for my money until the machine
itself earns the balance.

Drop me a line to-day. and let me send you a book about the "1900 Gravity" Washei
that washes clothes in six minutes. Address me personally,

H. R. MORRIS, MANAGER NINETEEN HUNDRED WASHER Company
Factory — 79-81 Portland Street. TORONTO, Ontario.

If you have elec-
tricity or Gasoline
Power available let
me tell you about
our "1900 " Power
Washers; wash and
wring by electricity
by simply attaching
to any-electric light
socket — no work at
all, or the same
machine can be
operated from a
Gasoline Engine.

STOVE
POLISH

FOR A KITCHEN CHEERY AND BRIGHT

THE F. F. DALLCY CO. LIMITED.

HAMII.TON, CAN, BUFFALO, N. V.

Prevents Waste !

THE KNECHTEL KITCHEN KABINET

with its airtight, sanitary containers for flour, sugar,
cereals, etc., prevents all waste or spoiling.

It enables the thrifty housewife to dispense
with a servant, and earns its cost over and over

Look for the Trade Mark.

NECHTEL
ITCHEN
.ABINET

REGISTERED

again. Write for cata-
logue M, describing and
illustrating the many
styles.

Sold by best furniture stores
in every town and city.

The Knechtel Kitchen Cabinet Co.. Ltd.

Hanover Ontario

you see, Mr. Smith, it's impossible to
tell until we're all through, on account
of advertising expenses, cost of selling,
and other items, to say nothing of the
heavy investment in the site."

The famous grin sprang into instant
illumination, and scared the astute Mr.
Forsythe nearly into heart disease.

"Yes," said the owner of the grin
with calm joy, "I met the former pro-
prietor of that land out at Sunnyview
just yesterday, and he told me your
exact investment. I think, Mr. For-
sythe, that on Saturday night I am
going to have more salary than I have
mentioned ; or else I may go on a com-
mission basis."

IV.
Napoleon walked up on the moon-
lit Hammond porch and found Billy
Peters comfortably located on the
swinging seat with Miss Marjorie.

"Come on, Pole," said Marjorie,
moving over. "There's always room
for one more."

"Indeed, there's not, "declared Billy,
moving squarely into the center of the
remaining space. "Co away, Pole
Smith. I'm making love,"

Napoleon regarded him for a moment
with tolerant humor.

"All right, Billy," he agreed. "I

think the best thing I can do, for the

sake of contrast, is to let you go ahead

at it. Where's your father, Margie ?"

"He's in the library," she replied,

laughing as he had done, at Billy

Peters' drawling avowal. "But come

back soon, won't you, for Billy's an

awful fluffer at his chosen specialty."

As he walked away, Marjorie looked

after his tall figure with appreciation.

"Isn't he a certainly fellow ?" she

observed.

"Declared irregular," announced
I3illy cheerfully. "Against the rules to
ask any smitten swain to praise the
deadly rival."

"Billy, Billy," she laughed. "Don't
you ever think of anything serious ?"
In the meantime. Napoleon sought
the library where Captain Hammond,
then poring over his plans for the
extension of the Eureka Iron Mills
arose instantly with a smile of pleasure
and extended his hand.

"Well, Pole," he said, unconsciously
adopting his daughter's name for
young Smith, "you got away from me.
i made a job for you the very day you
asked for it, and I've had a Dickens
of a time to fill the vacancy."
"I couldn't wait," explained Pole.
"How do you like your new place ?'
went on the captain, offering him a
cigar.

"Oh, it's interesting, though I'm not
sure I'd like it for a life occupation.
I'm learning something, I think; sales-
manship principally. There's one
queer thing I've noticed. It's won-
derful how much business can be done
on a small amount of ready money.

YOU NEVER
TIRE OF

Carbon Paper

now — before you've been stun? by
the loss following a faded or illegible
carbon copy. Be &afe with the
copies that are clear for all time to
come, readable as long as the paper
holds together. Save money with
MultiKopy, the standard carbon
paper, which, used with ordinary
care, will make 100 neat» dear
records from one sheet.

I Write for FREE Sheet

g P.S.Webster Co.,367Congres3 St.,Boston,Mass

^ Makers of .Star Brand Typewriter Ribbons

M United Typewriter Co., 126 Victoria St.,Toronto

r^iiiiiiiiijiiiiiiiiiiiini!

CUTICURA
SOAP

Because of its refreshing fra-
grance, absolute purity and
delicate emollient skin-puri-
fj'ing properties derived from
Cuticura Ointment.

Samples Free by Mail

Cuticura Soap and Ointment sold throuRliout the
Torld. Liberal sample of eac'l mailed free, with 32-p.
Mk. Address "Cuticura," Dept. 133, BoftoD.

One depends ^iiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiMiiMHiiii'iiii lUinini

7^ .^^fl^Bi,^ ^° y°^ imagine s

Other ^^B^^^n ^\,^^ ^^^^ ear- |

bon paper can B

possibly give g

permanently g

clear copies? J

Then B

use =

CANADA MONTHLY

I find Forsythe and Spencer are swing-
ing that whole Sunnyview deal on an
initial cash payment of a thousand
dollars, mortgage notes for the bal-
ance. They bought in the land at two
hundred dollars an acre, and are selling
it out in building lots at two thousand.
They do a big business in options, too,
I've found, and they make a dollar go
farther than I'd ever dreamed it could
reach."

"You've only known the spending
dollars," returned the captain with a
smile. "A single, ordinary, spending
dollar is of no more use than a safety
razor at a colored picnic, but a business
dollar has no time for foolishness. It
works twenty-five hours a day. It's
as serious as an old maid's wedding.
I'd like to see you succeed, Smith.
To do that you've got to appreciate
that there's no sentiment or friendship
in business. If there is, the business
fails. Remember that, will you ?"

"I'm not likely to forget it," replied
Napoleon seriously. "It was because
of such lovable weaknesses that my
father failed."

"Yes," admitted the captain. "Your
father always was a sentimentalist,
and he lost many a good opportunity
through it. I beat him out myself
once in a business deal, just because
of that."

"You did, eh ?" said young Smith,
his brows contracting a trifle.

"Oh, it was a fair and a square
arrangement, where one of us had just
as good a chance as the other, only I
was less particular than he in taking
advantage when I saw it. We parted
good friends enough."

"Yes, father always was charitably
inclined."

"Charitably the devil !" exclaimed
the captain. "There was nothing of
the sort needed in that or any other
deal. The sooner you get out of your
head, young man, that money has
any emotions, the better off you'll be."
"I see," said Napoleon dryly.
"The quicker you see, the better,"
insisted the captain, dwelling upon the
subject so strongly that one might
think he had really almost need to de-
fend himself. "Where would I have
been if I had stopped for such con-
siderations ? As it is, I built the
Eureka Iron Mills out of nothing — a
little bit of a sixteen by twenty shop,
where we made plain castings— to its
present twenty-acre spread. Not
only that, but we must have more
room, large additions, too, right away.
There's success for you. We need
twenty acres more in which to spread,
which means — By Hokey !" and the
captain pounded his fist on the table,
irritated by a sudden thought. "I left
the matter of securing that property
to young Bluffing, then I fired him and
haven't turned over the job to any-

As Easy to Light
as a Gas Jet

To light the Rayo Lamp
you don't have to risk
burnt and oily fingers.
You candoiteasily without
removing shadeorchimney.

^^/&

LAMP

The Rayo is the best kero-
sene lamp made. It is
clean and convenient — does
not smoke or smell because
it is made on the proper
scientific principles. i j» ;i
The Rayo gives a strong,
clear and steady light, and
is the ideal lamp for the
home.

Dealers everywhere carry
the Rayo. Write for de-
scriptive circular, i'. '^^-- j
~Royalite'oii is the best
for all uses.

THE IMPERIAL OIL
COMPANY, LIMITED

Toronto Quebec Regina

Ottawa St. John Vancouver

Halifax Winnipeg Edmonton

Montreal Calgary Saskatoon

r:^\

^An ci^oyable eJacation for the^^
traveler, ^i" unlimittjd liirld 1 nr busi-
' nessinfii, Frtquent Siiilinj,'s hy l:*,r)(J(
ton steamers to liarb.'idus, l!alii;i, Kiude
Janeiro, S:iiitus, MoiUcvi deo and iJufiios Ayrcs.

TOURS AROUND SOUTH AMERICA

LOvcrilie AtuK'sby railaTidthrott!,'li the rnnania Canal ,

RUSK (& DANIELS, general agents
.fllSl'rudiicc ExcliP'>j;c, N. Y., or Local Agents

CANADA MONTHLY ADVERTISER.

\Tjf^isL]^i*m&smj^ti^!!^

A TPAVEL06U6 BV ^USBE

Soo Xine
JYew Steel
Standard
Sleepers

r y/yJF

■««M.1IH.

%^^3

s:^j|

STEEL ^ / yi

TRAINS

WINNIPEG TO . {
. TO

ELECIRIC
UGHTED

ST. PAUL
MINNEAPOLIS

QT PAITI r CHICAGO

ST. PAUL I MILWAUKEE

MINNEAPOLIS *° 1 duluth

SUPERIOR

TAKE
THE

EASY WAY SOUTH

Krop SAFETY AND COURTESY

). C. PETERSON. General Agent, H. P. WENTE, District Passenger Agent

J. E. DOUGHERTY, Travelling Agent, 222 Baanatyne Ave., WINNIPEG, MAN.

■PHONE, GERRY 726

W. R. SHELDON, D.F. and P.A., 205 El?hth A79., Wwt. Calgary, Alte.; J. H. MDRTAnOH,

Tr«T. Ft and Pas. Agt., Agency Bldg., BdmoatOQ, Alta. ; H. T. DOFFY, T.A., Moose Jaw, Sask.

"^p^ii^nfey;

cMA.CrP\.G^a '..m^_/yi<\ L w>=».u kSE,,e-=-^c?utii;r^*r^Aj.>p,t,Rjj3,Ru^

CANADA MONTHLY

body else. I must see to it to-morrow.
I'm growing neglectful in my old age."
"I suppose you have plenty of room
in which to spread ?" observed the
younger man politely.

"No, that's the dickens of it," said
the captain. "We haven't. There
are only two pieces of land available,
and only one of them desirable."

"Where is your plant ?" asked young
Smith with growing interest.

"Out on the Cedarpong Division of
the L. & I., at Hammondville. You
ought to go out some day and see the
place."

"Hammondville ! Why, I pass the
Hammondville station every day on
my way to the Sunnyview addition,
but I never noticed your plant."

"No, we haven't the business ad-
vantages that we ought to have,"
admitted the captain; "I'm thinking
of cutting away the sand ridge which
shuts ofT the view of our factory from
the railroad."

Just then the telephone bell rang,
and the call proved to be for young
Smith. Excusing himself from the
captain, who seemed reluctant to let
him go, Napoleon walked out on the
porch.

"For whom was the call ?" asked
Marjorie.

"For me, of course," declared Billy
Peters. "I'll gamble it was some one
of the girls calling me up. They're
always bothering arourrd me."

"No," said Napoleon abstractedly,
thinking upon other matters so deeply
that he had not time to reply to Billy
Peters in his own banter. "The call
was for me. It's from June. She
wants me to come down and get her,"
and he started toward the gate.

"Just what I told you," said Billy
triumphantly. "I wish your sister
would quit following me around. You
ought to speak to her about it, Pole.
But never mind; you stay here, and
I'll go ahead. You may try to make
love to Margie while I am gone."

"Trying to make love to Margie is
rather a bromide," said Napoleon.
"Everybody has the same idea."
Nevertheless, he sat down most com-
fortably and contentedly by Marjorie's
side, and allowed Billy Peters to stroll
negligently after his sister.
V.
Hammondville consisted of a sta-
[ tion and three streets of well-populated
[workmen's cottages. Beyond, reach-
ed by a wagon road and a spur track,
[was the Eureka plant, a low-lying col-
I lection of brick buildings which sprawl-
led in every direction. To the front
I was a sand ridge; to the rear, the
[Sound; to the east, a stretch of level
jland; and to the west, an equal area
iwhich, however, was one-third marsh.
As young Smith stepped into view
around the turn of the road, workmen

UPPER, DORMANT
LOWER, RESURRECTED

The Genuine
Mexican Resurrection Plant

The Greatest Marvel of the Plant World

The Mexican Resurrection Plant is probably the most wonderful
novelty in the vegetable kingdom. In its dormant condition it looks dead,
■Iry and lifeless, but within a few minutes after being placed into water it
)ursts into a beautiful, dark, living fern-like plant. And it will do this
TIME AND TIME AGAIN FOR YEARS. In its dormant condition
:t can be laid away on the shelf to dry up and remain apparently lifeless,
out at any time desired it can be revived by simply placing in water.

The Mexican Resurrection Plant grows in the wilds of the mountains
of Mexico. By the Mexicans it is called SIEMPRE VIVA, which means
very much the same as the English word everlasting.

As an attractive addition to the household there is nothing like it. Its
marvelous qualities are more like a miracle of magic than an act of nature,
md as a favor for parties, etc., it is in great demand and the cause of great
interest and amusement.

The illustration gives only a rough idea of the plant when dormam
md when resurrected; it can give no idea of its beautiful rich color and
-ittractive appearance, and an average plant when open will more than fill
a saucer.

MAMMOTH SIZE PLANT PREPAID TO ANY ADDRESS
IN CANADA, 25c.

THE BOTANICAL DECORATING & NOVELTY CO., LONDON, CAN.

Dealers write for wholesale prices. Floral Dept,

New York's Rendezvous for Canadians

Every day brings new Canadian visitors to this hotel, recommended
by previous guests from the Dominion who have enjoyed the spirit of
"Old Country" hospitality afforded them at the

HOTEL MARTINIQUE

BROADWAY AND 32ND STREET

CHARLES LEIGH TAYLOR. President WALTER S. GILSON, Vice- FVesident

WALTER CHANDLER. JR., Manager

The rates at this hotel are exceedingly low with a splendid room, con-
venient to bath, for $2.00 per day, a pleasant room and bath for $2.50 per
day, a choice table d'hote dinner for $1.50, and a club breakfast (that has
no equal in America) for 60c. The hotel is magnificently appointed and
is in the very centre of everything worth seeing, hearing or buying. Litera-
ture and resers'ations may be obtained through our Canadian advertising
agents.

SELLS LIMITED

SHAUGHNESSY BUILDING, .... MONTREAL

How do you know

that you are getting all the
time for which you are pay-
ing wages ?

Any system of recording
the arrival and departure
of employees that is de-
pendent for its success upon
the honesty and energy of
a clerk is liable to go wrong.

Every timekeeper has
his friends, his prejudices,
and his weaknesses. He
is only human.

A method of time record-
ing which has made good
is the

International Rochester Card Time Recorder

(Illustrated above)
This system is entirely automatic and is the acme of simplicity. It cannot err or be
manipulated, and its records are absolutely indisputable. Can anything be more satis-
factory ? Write us for catalogue I which contains valuable pointers for every merchant.

International Time Recording Co. of Canada Limited

19-21-23 Alice Street, Toronto, Ont.

30 Querbes Ave., Outremont, Montreal.

CANADA MONTHLY

Sheckletcn says:

'•The question of the concentrated beef supply is most important
- — it must be Bovril"

Sha.kleto,, knows. He is taking no risks. lie chooses B<.vnl because
the f(K)d he lakes must yield every ounce of nourishment to his men.

fXw Shackleton's example. Into a single bottle of Bovnl is packed the
nourishment value of many' ,»unds of beef, and <=ven a p^a.n meal y.c^cb
much more strength and nourishment if you are taking Bovnl. But
remember Shackleton's words: It must be Bovril.

s. ir. 11

A Day's Record near Parry Sound

Why Not a Hunting Trip
This Fall?

THE NEW BRUNSWICK FORESTS THE L^URENTIANS OF QUEBEC
THE FAMOUS KIPAWA COUNTRY OF ONTARIO AND QUEBEC

THE FRENCH RIVER DISTRICT OF ONTARIO
THE CANADIAN ROCKIES VANCOUVER ISLAND

Still abound with all kinds of Game

Get Out Your Rifle

And go to any of those places— you are sure of a good bag]

Why not write to-day for "Fishing and Shooting/' giving full particulars

including names of Guides, etc., obtainable from any
Canadian Pacific Agent, or C. E. E. USSHER, Passenger Traffic Manager,

Montreal, Que.

were removing the "for sale or lease"
sign from the better tract, iind Napo-
leon stopped to look Ufwn this opera-
tion with a trace of annoyance.

"Quick work," he said. Then he
approached the workmen. "Who's
bought this place ?" he asked. "Cap-
tain Hammond ?'*

"I couldn't tell you, sir," said the
older mofi of the crew. "Mr. Panz
told us to move the sign over to
Greeneck."

Panz was the real estate agent whose
name was on the board, and with a sigh
Napoleon saw he had been correct in
his surmise; that ^he captain had
taken extraordinarily prompt action.
"A fool's errand," he told himself;
and yet there caJne to him a sudden
determination never to arrive at any
conclusion without investigation, but
in each and every case to sift his facts
to the bottom. He hurried back to
the station, where there was a public
'phone, and called up Panz's office.

"I understand you have a tract of
land for sale at Hammondville," he
observed. ,,

"I couldn't tell you about that,^
said the clerk at the other end. "Who's-
this speaking ?" ,

"Smith, of Forsythe and Spencers

office." . . ,

"Oh, ! I'll find out about it right

away, Mr. Smith." Then a moment

later: "We no longer have control of

that tract. It was sold yesterday."*

"To whom ?"

"To the Consolidated Hame-nng
Manufacturing Company, which we
understand intends to erect an exten-
sive plant there."

"Good," said Smith. "Thank you,
and he rang off. _

So, after all, the captain, through his
forgetfulness, had lost the most desir-
able piece of extension property, and
there remained only the marshy
ground.

"Who owns that piece of property
to the west of the Eureka Iron Mills ?'
he asked the station agent.

"Mrs. McGundy," said the lantern
jawed station agent, scraping his fingei
nail tenderly over his nose. Sh(
lives in that sky-blue house just to thi
end of the frog pond. Her husbam
has been dead for ten years, and sb
wants to go back to Ireland. She s i
good-natured fat old woman with ai
awful temper."

These and many other bits of intoi
marion the station agent proceeded t
relate, all the while, however, scrapm
his finger nail tenderiy over his nos€
and Napoleon Smith listened mos
patiently, for he wished to know a
that he could learn about Mrs. M(
Gundy. Finallv, however, the st£
tion agent switched to topics concert
ing himself and his own family and h
past career and future prospects, an

CANADA MONTHLY

Holiday Jewellery

You may be puzzled to know
what is new and desirable in

Jewellery

Diamond Mounting

and Watches

for this season. A letter of
enquiry will bring the infor-
mation you require.

We are experts in remodel-
ling old jewellery and special
pieces. Sketches and estimates
can be promptly supplied.

JOHN S. BARNARD,

194 Dundas Street,
LONDON, - - CANADA

DREWRY'S

American Style

RICE
BEER

A Light Lager of
Delicious Flavor

Make YOUR Test
TO-DAY.

Sold by all dealers

E. L. Drewry, Ltd.

Winnipeg.

HARTSHORN
SHADE ROLLERS

licar the script nanit; of

_^ Stewart Hartsliorn o:: label.
Get "improved." no tacl-:s reauired
Wood Rollers Tin Rollers

Napoleon hurried away to the little
blue house, where he found Mrs. Mc-
Gundy to be a globular person cut
into two hemispheres by an apron
string.

"Mrs. McGundy," queried Napo-
leon, "do you wish to sell your land
out here ?"

"Show me the man that will buy it!"
said she, and having no more oppor-
tunities to talk than the lonely station
agent she started right in to make up
for lost time. "I surely could part
with it without breaking my heart.
Twenty years ago, when Jim bought
it for a song, it was supposed that if
we held on to it for twenty years it
would be worth all the money in the
mint, but in all that time never have
I seen the man that would ever be
wanting that land, unless it would be
Captain Hammond. But he don't
want it. Twice I have gone myself
to sell it to him, and twice he gave me
to understand that if he bought any
land it would be the other piece. Last
time he made me desperate angry,
and I swore I never would sell it to
him. You're not representing Cap-
tain Hammond ?"

"No," said Napoleon briskly, "I
am representing myself. What will
you take for the land ?"

"Well, there's twenty acres, and
it's worth, Jim always said, two hun-
dred dollars an acre. That's four
thousand dollars. Give me that and
I'll take the next steamer for Dublin."

"I can't give you the four thousand
cash," said Smith, "but I'll give you
one thousand cash, and a mortgage
note on the balance, payable in sixty
days. You can wait the two months
for the collection of that note, or you
can probably discount it."

"Let me understand that," said Mrs.
McGundy.

He carefully explained to her about
the mortgage note, and with each
period she nodded her round gray head
emphatically.

"It sounds well," she said, "and you
seem like an honest boy. But before
I say aye, yes, or no, I'll go in and see
Mr. McShane of McShane and Mc-
Shane, who was my husband's old
friend; and whatever he says, I'll do.
Do you know Mr. McShane ?"

Mr. Smith was unfortunate enough
never to have had that pleasure, and
he expressed himself contritely about it.

"What time does the next train go ?"
he wanted to know. "Can you come
to town with me right now ?"

Mrs. McGundy looked him over
carefully, and glanced at the clock.

"Lord love you, boy !" she said.
"What a ragin' tearin' hurry you're
in ! Oh, well, it's been many a long
day since I took a jaunting with a
handsome-looking young fellow like
yourself, and T think I'll treat myself

Ti^'^Hindd^^'^*^

Itesign
Fairfax

INDISPENSABLE
CONVEAnE,«)CE

THAT the various
articles of furni-
ture in any one
room in a dwelling
should at least har-
monize in design is an
essential requirement
of good taste.

In this particular
the MmlH Kind of con-
vertible Davenports
and Divanettes ac-
complishes still an-
other purpose apart
from their features of
convenience. The designs
of the KtaiM Kind are
many. Each is in irre-
proachable good taste and
style. In each of three
styles of the BtauM Kind,
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to it just this once. There's a train
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and in due time I'll come along with
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Napoleon lost no time in getting
down to the station, and lost no time,
furthermore, in calling Captain Ham-
mond by 'phone.

"This is young Smith, Captain
Hammond," said he. "I _ want to
borrow a thousand dollars."

"Oh, you do ?" inquired the captain.
"On what security ?"

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CANADA MONTHLY

"Mortgage on our house," returned
Napoleon crisply.

"When do you want it ?"

"Within an hour or so. Captain, I
want you to let me have the check this
morning and let me fix up the mort-
gage with you to-morrow."

"It isn't business, but I'll do it,"
agreed the captain after some hesita-
tion. "But would you mind telling
me what you want it for ?"

"Oh, I have a little real estate oppor-
tunity."

The captain pondered a moment.

"You want to be careful about that,"
he warned. "Real estate deals are
not always what they appear on the
surface. "

Napoleon Smith grinned sweetly
into the 'phone.

"I'll guarantee this one to be all
right," he confidently affirmed. "It's
a piece of property that's wanted, and
I'll clean up two thousand dollars on
it in less than a week."

"All right," said the captain. "Of
course I am not your guardian, and
you're not compelled to tell me all the
details of your business, only I warn
you not to do anything foolish. Come
into the office and get your check at
any time."

Napoleon grinned so amiably as he
turned away from the 'phone that the
station agent, coming in at that mo-
ment, demanded to know what was
funny; and the agent stood looking
after him in slow wonder even after
Smith had taken the train with Mrs.
McGundy, who was dressed her brav-
est in a little black bonnet and Persian
shawl and silk as stiff as sheet iron.

On the way to McShane and Mc-
Shane Napoleon had Mrs. McGundy
stop a moment in the lobby of the
Kingston Building while he ran up to
Captain Hammond's office and got
his check. Still on the way, he stop-
ped and deposited that check at the
bank where he had a small account,
and then was ready for business. The
broad-boned old lawyer would have
made the deal pompous and difficult
had he been left alone, but Mrs. Mc-
Gundy stopped him as soon as she
saw his direction.

"Stop your blatherin' and foolin'

now, Terrance," she commanded.

"Hurry up and finish the business with

this young man. I like the cheerful

■ face of him."

After that, Napoleon went out to
Sunnyview and sold lots with par-
ticular vim and energy.
VI.

Mr. P'orsythe, having sent for his
new assistant in extreme haste in the
afternoon of the same day, peered up
at that young man with something
tigerish in the expression of his white
old face.

"I understand that you secured

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possession of a tract of land in Ham-
mondville," said he, "and that you
only purchased it this morning."

Napoleon grinned cheerfully.

"All quite true," he confessed.

"Don't you know that was most
unethical ?" demanded Mr. Forsythe.
"Why, in our employ, and upon
our time, you took occasion to do
some private business for yourself in
our exact line !"

"Yes, sir," admitted Mr. Smith,
with no abatement of his pleasant

CANADA MONTHLY

expression. "How do you come to
know about it ?"

"Because Mr. Hammond called us
up early this morning and commis-
sioned us to buy that very piece of
ground for him."

This time the grin of Napoleon
became a laugh.

"That's almost retributive justice,"
he said. "I suppose Captain Ham-
mond gave you the commission be-
cause I was employed here."

"Well, he did say something about
that," admitted Forsythe grudgingly.
"But the poinj; under consideration
just now is that you have been doing
business on your own account, on our
time, and in our line, which we can-
not permit."

The grin of Napoleon was positively
radiant now.

"You said that before," he gently
reminded Forsythe. "Do you think
I ought to turn it over to you ?"

"Well not exactly that," said Mr.
Forsythe. "But as our employee, you
are bound to consult our interests.
As our employee we couldn't recog-
nize you in this deal, but there's one
thing we can do; we can admit you
into partnership in this particular
transaction. Captain Hammond has
commissioned us to secure this piece
of property, which he imagined could
be purchased for four thousand dol-
lars. You have purchased it, and I
presume intend to sell it to him at an
increased price. Now, we might
arrange to fix the price between
Forsythe and Spencer and yourself,
and you and us split the profits."

Napoleon paused for an extra special
grin.

"No, I resign," he stated. "That's
a still better scheme. Now I'll sell
you that land for six thousand dollars,
cash."

In vast pain Mr. Forsythe eventually
was compelled to call up Mr. Ham-
mond, and inform that gentleman that
the land for his extension would cost
him the modest sum of six thousand
dollars.

"Buy it," directed Hammond. "It's
my own fault for not having seen to
it a long time ago."

"I might add," said Mr. Forsythe
with a malignant glance at his ex-
employee, "that the property in ques-
tion is at present owned by young
Smith, formerly in our employ, but
o-day resigned."

"Smith !" exclaimed Hammond. "Is
he in your office now ? If he is, put
him on the 'phone." And as Mr.
Forsythe indicated the captain's desire
to Napoleon, he could hear the cap-
tain, at the other end of the wire, say-
ing to himself: "Well, I'll be dam-
ned !"

"Look here," demanded the cap-
Lain of young Smith, "did you actually
have the nerve to borrow that thou-

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sand dollars from me this morning to
buy the very piece of property you
knew I wanted, so as to compel me to
pay you a two-thousand-dollar profit
on the loan ?"

"That's right, Captain," admitted
Napoleon cheerfully.

"Well, Smith, don't you think that
was a little ungrateful and unfriendly ?
Don't you think you stepped over the
bounds of both business and social
ethics ?

"By no means," said Napoleon.
"You told me yourself, just the other
night, that business knows no friend-
ship, and that a dollar has no senti-
ments or emotions. I want this two
thousand dollars, and intend to have
it. It's as unsentimental and un-
emotional a block of money as there is
in the world. Want this property
at six thousand ?"

"Of course I do, you young pirate,"
said the captain. "Tell Forsythe I'll
send him a check for his commission,
then you come over here and settle up
with me. I'll have my lawyer here
and tell him to watch you."

"All right," laughed Napoleon. "I'll
be right over, thank you."

"Thank nothing !" snorted the cap-
tain. "I ought to have you arrested."

That night as the captain sat in the
library, Marjorie came in to use the
telephone, and paused behind her
father's chair to pull his ears.

"Who's that you have with you on
the porch, Margie ?" he asked.

"Pole Smith," she informed him.
He says he made two thousand dollars
in one deal to-day."

"Yes, confound it, he did !" ex-
ploded the captain. "He made it out
of my pocket and borrowed my mone\'
to do it with."

Her laugh upon that was delicious;
so much so that the captain stopped
to listen to it in positive joy, all his
annoyances of the day forgotten.

"I guess I'm a lemon," he confessed,
laughing with her.

"A nickel's worth of them," she
agreed, twisting two corkscrews in his
gray hair. "I should think that a
shrewd old business tiger like you
would feel humiliated to have a mere
youngster like Pole Smith come along
and eat him all up."

The captain smiled grimly.

"To tell you the truth, Margie,
that's exactly the point w-hich peeved
your poor old father. I don't mind the
loss of the money so much as having a
youngster like that beat me. But in
spite of myself, I forgive him for it.
He's a fine chap, young Smith is."

She slipped her arm around his neck
and laid her cheek against his.

"A fine chap ? Just finding it out ?
Daddy, daddy, daddy ! You don't
keep up with the news very well, do
vou ?"

CANADA MONTHLY

Margie Fiske

Continued from page 17.

"Aw — kid — " he said softly, "you're
all tired out. Look at me, why don't
you? You're all in, Marg."

It was the first intimate, real you-
an'-me word she had heard since
Beryl left. To be sure he didn't mean
it, clear down, soul-deep. She knew
that. But God! how good it was.

Somehow Margery found herself
talking — the office, the factories, the
housekeepers, down to Miss Etta
herself, everything came tumbling out.
He sympathized with her fiercely,
understandingly she thought, sympath-
zed with her when she was right and
when she was wrong.

After she finished, they dropped
into silence.

The darkness slid deeper over the
park.

Suddenly he stirred.

"What's that in your glove, kid?"
he asked unevenly, "your key?"

There was a change in his voice.
Margie had all along subconsciously
expected it. This straight human
sympathy that Beryl might have given
couldn't last.

She braced herself to meet the pull,
h\it there was no spring left. There
had been so many Waterloos in the
past week.

Had she looked up above the park
lights, up, up to the strange little
silent stars that she used to see through
the apple tree at home, perhaps things
might have been different — had she
thought of that far-off God who had
nothing whatever to do with mottoes —

But she was too tired.

"Aw, say," said the man huskily,
his arm tightening," "couldn't we go
up to the flat and — get a cup of cocoa,
kid?"

When Paris Went
to War

Continued from page 5.5.

solutely nothing but a shell. Bottles
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great copper separator torn to pieces,
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to fingers and hands, which dripped
blood, while butter and eggs had been
trampled in fury under foot. Chairs,
desk, refrigerator, counters — all were
reduced to splinters, and in a comer
cowered a woman, her natty cap awry,
her white apron torn and streaked,
her hair dishe\eled. The crowd had
wrecked its will, there was nothing
for the police to do — and they did it.
Rather roughly conducting the fainting
woman to one of the motor-cars, all
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"mob" still there, without having made
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During these days, too, there was
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Provision shops were attacked and
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These mobs were severely handled,
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informing the people that it was "not
necessary" to attack any shopkeeper
charged with lifting prices; that a
complaint at the nearest commissariat
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"We'll live on fresh things now,"
my friends said, without any hint
of panic or fear of the future, "and

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CANADA MONTHLY

then if it comes to the worst, we'll get
down to first principles — and macaroni. "
When Paris was proclaimed in a
state of siege and martial law announc-
ed, foreigners were ordered to register
and obtain a "permis de sejour," on the
third and fourth days of mobilization.
I know that mobilization went off like
clockwork, but I must say that this
matter of registration of foreigners
was abominably slipshod.

In time of peace, even, the French
are over-fond of bearing down heavy
with any little brief spell of authority.
Under martial law, then, it behooved
a foreigner to expect all sorts of com-
plications, all kinds of contradictory
instructions, all of which he must
obey implicitly, cheerfully and without
comment of any sort, no matter what
the expense in fatigue or useless and
unnecessary goings-about. First, we
were told that we must register at the
Prefecture of Police — across the square
from Notre Dame. This sounded like-
ly, as it was a stone's throw from the
studio of the M's. and not far from
my hotel. At the same time, it seemed
altogether too easy to me, knowing as
I did from long experience, the utter
inconsequentiality of the French in an
emergency. Before the third day of
mobilization dawned, we had received
word to go to the Place d'ltalie — almost
to the western boundary of Paris,
anything but a pleasant prospect with
no trams in service, nor any subway
line. But ours "not to reason why" —
and at seven o'clock the next morning,
Mr. M — and I arrived there — to find
several hundred others — mostly work-
ingmen of the lowest type, already
waiting in three lines, two of which
could not be right, and in case no
police appeared to keep order, would
be provocative of a riot. The doors
would not opeH until nine o'clock —
for at no time did the authorities think
it worth while to add to_ the regular
staffs at the various police stations,
or to keep longer hours. We waited
an hour, the crowd rapidly growing
behind us, as well as at the ends of the
other two lines, all crowding slowly,
but relentlessly forward, like the inevit-
able creeping up of quicksands, and as
the crush grew worse, a certain nasty
temper also developed. It was not
at all reassuring, and knowing there
was still another day, Mr. M — advised
dropping out, and coming again the
next morning, at four o'clock, in
order to "get right up against the
door" as he expressed it, and be the
first ones admitted.

But that evening at eight o'clock,
Mr. M — came to say we had been
transferred to the commissariat of my
arrondissement, only a few minutes'
walk distant, that the office was to
keep open all night, and he thought
it well to go down about midnight, and

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CANADA MONTHLY

then we would be able, probably, to
get in about two o'clock in the morn-
ing, thus avoiding a long, all day
wait. Fortunately we decided to re-
connoitre and discovered that the
office would close at ten o'clock, and
that the police would not permit any
more to form in line.

"You must be here by four o'clock
to-morrow morning, sure," said Mr.
M — as he left me at my door. "Now,
don't oversleep."

But, somehow I did; and it was
twenty minutes to five when I arrived
at the commissariat. Already there
was a crowd there, and my place was
seven rows from the front where Mr.
M — stood, the lines never being
single file, as with us, but packed
solidly the width of the walk. Mr.
M — decided that it would be better
for him to keep the place he had, get
his own "permis de sejour" first, and
then take my place until he could get
to the door again, for he knew well
that I never could stand the last hour
or so of relentless, killing crush. I
had had coffee and rolls before leav-
ing the hotel. I had bread in my bag
— and I had also the determination to
get through somehow without making
complaint, or showing the white
feather in any way.

About half past six, I began to feel
faint. I took out the unbuttered
bread in my bag and began to munch
it slowly. It revived me for a time
and then Mr. M — seeing I was feeling
the ordeal, brought me a tumbler of
wine, which he bought from a man
standing beside him, who had a full
bottle. About eight o'clock, feeling
that I was reaching my limit, with
still another hour before the doors
would open, and then more delay in
getting to the door itself, I began to
count. Very slowly and deliberately
I pronounced the numbers; when I
reached the hundreds, I pronounced
the full number. I had gotten up to
five thousand and was beginning to
wonder what next I could do, when it
began to rain, and I had other things
to think of. People who had umbrel-
las and those who by crowding closer,
could get under them, were satisfied;
those on whose shoulders and hats
the umbrellas dripped, growled menac-
ingly. At any moment, the dissatis-
faction might have broken out into
a general fight. There had already
l)een various disorderly scenes, win-
dows had been broken; in a surge for-
ward I had been pushed to the out-
side, into the gutter, where I slipped
in the running water which the street
sweeper had set loose under my very
feet, and fell upon one knee. Not a
hand was lifted to help me up; not an
inch of the space that I had lost was
given back.

And when at last the door was

'0^

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Make this treatment a daily habit

Just before retirinK work up a warm water lather of Woodbury*s Facial Soap in
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Woodbury's Facial Soap is the work of an authority on the skin and its needs.
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reminder to get Woodbury's today.

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For sale by Canadian druggists from' coasi to coast, including Newfoundland.

Write today to the Canadian
Woodbury Factory for sample

For 4c ice luill send a sample
cake. For JOc, samples of Wood-
bury's Facial Soap, Facial Cream
and Po=wder.

For 50c, copy of the IVoudbury
'Book and samples of the Wood-
bury preparations.

A ddrcss The Andrew Jtrgens Co., Ltd. ,
DePt. \U V I'ertll, Ontario.

jOHNH^^/^^^i

opened, only six from the waiting
tiirong were permitted to enter at a
time. It was ten-twenty before Mr.
M — could relieve me, and my muscles
were so strained from having stood so
long that it was several minutes before
1 could walk. It was exactly tvvo
hours longer before Mr. M — again
reached the door, and I could enter.
With all the determination in the
world, it would ha\o been a physical
impossibility for me to have attempted
to hold my place in th'at pitiless mob

during the last hour. Tough, wiry
Italian peasant women screamed with
agony, and fought for a chance to
breathe, while the tempers of the men
rose every minute, and the police were
kept alert to quell incipient fights.

Including this "perirxls de sejour",
my papers now consisted of a regular
passport (for getting which I had been
laughed at, when I left America) a
birth certificate which the consul had
given me a year before, a certificate of
domicile from the concierge of my

CANADA MONTHLY

His Back

LOOK Big Ben square
in the back — he's good
all round and good all
through. If 'handsome is
as handsome does' — Big
Ben's beauty is more'n skin
deep.

See those great, strong,
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wind up so easy — and the
broad, deep-toned bell he
sounds, so your get up is
pleasing.

His best backing is that Made
by JVestdox, La Salle, Illinois. ' ' —
Stamped on a clock, it's the best
oversleep insurance you can buy.

Big Ben stands seven inches
from tip to toe — big, faithful, exact
with large, tlean cut hands, plainly
seen in the dim morning light.

He rings you up at any time you say —
steady for five minutes or, on and off
for ten — stops short in either call at a
nudge from you.

His price in tiie States is S2. SO; in Canada SJ.OO.
If your dealer doesn't stock Big Ben. a money order
addressed to his makers. IVtttchx, Xj Sallt, lUiniit,
briiij-s tiim to your door postpaid

$100.00 IN GOLD FOR YOUR CHURCH

IF YOUR CHURCH HAS DEBTS— NEEDS AN ORGAN
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Write us at once for particulars of our $100 Cash Offer to Churches or bring this ad. to
the attention of an oflScer of your Ladies' Aid Society or Sunday School. Act quickly.
Address, CHURCH AID DEPT.

CANADA MONTHLY

TORONTO, ONT

hotel, and on the back ni the "permis
de sojour", the necessary form to per-
mit my leaving France. Arid during
all the sticceeding days, until I finally
bought my ticket for Havre, to leave
France, I never was required to show
one of iny papers ! So much trouble,
so much physical inconvenience, so
much anxiety for measures of identifi-
cation that were never put to the proof !
After the first ebullition of the mob spirit
Paris settled downto perfect calm. In
tourist Paris, two-thirds of the shops
were closed, but in French Paris, life
went on, to the casual observer, almost
as usual. Nearly all the little shops
were open, the women went every
morning to market, returning with
bursting market-baskets, and in some
cases, even with the bunch of flowers
of which the French are so fond. The
street sweepers went about their oc-
cupations as regularly as ever, swishing
their rude brooms in the clear running
water, as lazily as if no cataclysm had
turned things upside down; fountains
played at the customary hours;
mothers took their children, as usual,
to the gardens of the Tuileries and the
Luxembourg, where the little ones
indulged, quite as usual, in the little
hot cakes baked under their noses, and
which look like wafifles, but are light
as thistledown and crispy as fresh
toast, and everywhere, mothers and
nurses sat quietly about, their fingers
busy with the inevitable embroidery
or crochet work.

And yet, with all this brave show^
of going about its business as usual,
it was a sadly changed Paris, a piti-
ful travesty upon the lovely lively city
that I had known so well. Cione were
the hundreds of motor-busses, and
dozens and dozens of the taxi-cabs and
fiacres; gone were the myriad huck-
sters' carts, piled high with appetizing
fruits, and vegetables or aglow with
great piles of flowers. Gone were the
fashion parades, all frivolous dress on
the boulevards; gone all the novelties
from the counters in what stores were
still open, and gone was every cart
horse, every delivery van, and at
night, more noticeable still, gone by
eight o'clock, were the little tables and
chairs on the sidewalks outside the
cafes — all the terrace life which for
generations has been so typically a
part of Paris, so intimately a part of
the life of the sedate, plodding Paris-
ian, as well as of the "boulevardier."

And yet, shorn of all these outward
signs of her fabled glory, it was still a
wonderful Paris, a Paris to be cherish-
ed and loved and crooned over, a Paris
of which one was proud to the point of
tears, a Paris that one who knew it can
never forget, a Paris that one is honor-
ed to have known, a Paris which has
never been greater, e\en at the zenith
of national glory.

VOL. XVII.

NO. 2

loggpJH

mniminimnniiiiiitutnHiitinimniiiiitD

CANADA
MONTHLY

LONDON
DEC.

nuoinmnuniiBiiiiii

moimiiuiiiiiiMiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiuiraj'lpjuuiniiiiMH^^^^

gniniuBiiiiiiininjniDiiiiiininiiiiiDiiii

As Keissheitai

From Admiral Semenoff 's, "The
Reckoning." — "The battleship Yashima
struck a mine on May 15, and sank the
folloiving day on her passage to Japan.
It was not till October that rumors reached
Europe, and even Japan, of this inci-
dent. It became definitely known only
after Tsushima."

EAST of Port Arthur and south-
so far out in the Bay of Korea
that only the extreme Russian
forts topping the last Laote-
shan mountain gave the glint of land
as the rocks caught the rays of the
rising sun — a single Japanese torpedo
boat drifted.

It was not entirely out of control.
Smoke constantly streaked from the
funnels as fresh coal was spread over
the fires; but the screw scarcely turned
— no more at any time than to save
steerageway enough to hold the San-
sanami's unshattered starboard bow to
the waves dashed down by the ragged
wind from the foam-beaten Korean
gulf. The steam was being made for
the pumps. For, from six feet short
of the stem half-way to the beam, the
port plates of the torpedo boat were
crushed and battered in. Canvas,
lashed over the worst of the hole,
stayed the sea from flooding in un-
checked as the Sansanami rolled; but
above this leaking patch, and about it,
and between the parted plates bent in
below the water line, the sea rushed in.
Too much for the pumps. With all

By Edwin Balmer

Author of "Via Wireless," "Counsel

for the Defence," "A Wild Goose

Chase," etc.

Drawings by Frederic M. Grant

the opposed violence of the boilers
■palpitating them, each moment the
pumps barely put oH the sinking of the
Sansanami for another moment. So it
had gone all night, with officer and
crew bailing alike with buckets —
ceaseless, no man once sparing himself
till he dropped from weakness in the
water which he had not lowered.

It was the morning of the 16th of
May — the fourth month of the block-
ade of Port Arthur by .sea. At the
mouth of the Yalu, two hundred miles
to the north, the first battle for the
Manchurian mainland was over. For
more than two weeks the honored
spirits of the Japanese soldiers who fell
in the assaults there had dwelt in the
Temple of Kudan; already, from some
of the regiments, names of those
imperishable ones had begun to reach
their brothers in the fleet.

VAN DERHOOP-CUNN COUP .iNY, LIMITED.

Kuroki, with the first army, was
established in Manchuria. But the
second army, under Oku, was but dis-
embarking upon the peninsula for the
siege of Port Arthur In the treacher-
ous, gale-swept inlet of Yenta-ao, just
beyond the guns of the Russian posi-
tion at Nanshan, and not thirty ri by
sea from Port Arthur, the Japanese
transports tore at their anchors. The
two miles of wild, roaring water be-
tween troop-ships and shore daily were
strung with overloaded, shrieking
launches, half-swamped sampans, and
ships' boats tumbling the soldiers
toward the land.

But a few miles further up the beach
were the Japanese army base and sup-
plies at Pitsevo.

All these — and all that these prom-
ised — therefore lay at any hour at
the mercy of the Russian battle-fleet at
Port Arthur, if Togo's guard should
fail. All these and more — the victori-
ous corps on the Yalu, as surely as the
brigades in camp upon the peninsula —
were equally subject, if the Russian
ships should give battle now and, with
fortune, could cripple Togo's fleet.

So never was there a dawn upon
which the Admiral had such need to
expect that every man and every ship
was fit for its duty, as upon this sunrise
which found the Sansiinami all but
sunk from its commander's unwarrant-
able act.

It was, indeed, the atom of the fleet
— the smallest armed vessel under the
Admiral's command. Except for the

hulks which dragged for mines, and the
hulls to be sunk to block the channel,
the Sansanami probably better could
be lost than any other ship.

It was nineteen years since she was
bought in England, and got the name
and rating, "Sansanami, torpedo-boat
of the first class." It was ten years
ago — the year before the Chinese war —
that already the Sansanami had be-
come "of the second class"; and its
name began slipping from it upon the
navy records. For it was now six
years that, officially, the quivering
quarter-inch plates at the stern had
borne but a number; since the Navy
Yards charged repairs and refitting to
"third-class torpedo boat No. 108";
and since a sub-lieutenant, with a
torpedo-gunner second, was fixed as
sufficient command.

Therefore the loss of the Sansanami
cculd not: even at this moment, be of
much concern. But to the drenched,
haggard men, fighting back the sea
with buckets, the saving of the ship
meant more than life; and to young
sub-lieutenant Yasui, upon the bridge
— the boy responsible, in command —
it meant, beyond life, his whole hope
for imperishable honor, his destiny
with his forefathers for eternity.

From the beginning of the blockade,
both Russian and Japanese had been
planting contact mines thickly about
the harbour entrance. Those of the
Japanese had blown up and sunk the
Russian battle ship Petropavlosk the
month before. But the Russian anch-
ored mines had accounted for but
unimportant gunboats of the Japanese
fleet. So for weeks their mine-layers
had been sowing mines at night on the
bottom where the watching battle-
ships and cruisers steamed back and
forth at their stations; other mines —
ugly, iron monsters, floating just below
the surface of the sea with only their
five-spiked heads showing at the sur-
face — were strewed so as to drift out
anywhere where the Japanese ships
might encounter them.

The order had gone to the torpedo-
fleet to destroy these, wherever found.
Through over-eagerness in destroying
these floating mines, sub-lieutenant
Yasui brought the Sansanami too close
to one, which he exploded.

Immediately he had ordered the
screw all but stopped, the pumps
started. Strong Takesaburo, the
stoker — the best swimmer and diver — •
took a rope in his teeth and twice dove
with it and carried it under the sinking
stem so that canvas could be drawn
over the gap and secured.

Thus officer and men fought it out
alone, through the afternoon and night,
beseeching the spirits of the gale which
so often died down with the dawn to
spare, not them, but the Sansanami at
sunrise.

CANADA MONTHLY

So the boy upOn the tiny bridge,
searching the white waves for a sign,
rushed below to tell his men:

"The wind is becoming less!"

"My commander," said old Majuka,
his torpedo gunner, "are we so poor in
spirit you must spur us?"

The sailor beyond him likewise man-
aged a smile. "Lieutenant, have you
begun to have fear for the sinews of the
pumps?"

Yasui returned to his bridge. He
saw there was now but little more dan-
ger in forcing his vessel through the
waves than in drifting with them.

The engine-room bell jangled; the
throb of the turning engines became
companion to the beat of the pumps.
The stem of the Sansanami swung
boldly and drove direct for the naval
base at Hai-Yun-Tao, in the Elliot
Islands, twenty miles off^ Pitsevo.

The sun, half an hour high, flooded
the white-specked sea with yellow
radiance and disclosed, over the bow
of the Sansanami, a blotch of black
above the glistening green of the hori-
zon. Another blotch rose behind it;
now others — the smoke of the Japanese
battle-ships and heavy cruisers going
to watch stations off Port Arthur,
relieving the lighter cruisers and torpedo
craft which kept the watch at night.

As he saw this, Yasui suddenly
realized that the safety of his ship had
deprived him of escape by death from
disgrace.

In a few moments, he must proclaim
failure from his flagstaff to all the ships
in sight. They had seen the Sansan-
ami and the officers had made out

"I DID NOT SEE TUB HATSUSB AND THE TASHIHA.

A DISASTER HAS OCCURRED ?"

through their glasses the wreck of the
side exposed to them. Undoubtedly
they had been calling to him by the
wireless for some moment?; but his
installation had been wrecked. Soon
the ships would be within flag-signaling
distance. Already Adachi could dis-
tinguish them, the gray battleships
Aschi, Yashima, then the flagship
Nikasa; no, that second one was not
the Yashima; it was the Shikishima,
the sister-ship. For neither the Yas-
hima nor the Hatsuse were there;
yesterflny morning they — the powerful
great Yashima and the Hatsuse — with
the Shikishima were on watch. So
to-day they were not there. The rest
were cruisers and destroyers. And
then one destroyer came toward the
Sansanami and a line of flags broke
from the mast of the Mikasa.

Sub-lieutenant Yasui ordered the
answering flags broken upon his mast.
"Out of service through careless-
ness in exploding mine. No en-
counter with enemy. Able to
reach base without assistance."
The signal flags upon the Mikasa
fluttered down; the destroyer, which
had swung toward the Sansanami,
returned to the squadron. With no
other notice of any sort, silently and
without sheer of any ship, the fleet
steamed past torpedo boat of the third
class. No. 108, able to continue to the
base, but out of service through the
carelessness of its commander, without
having encountered the enemy.

Steering into the crowded harbour
of Hai-Yun-Tao at noon, Adachi Yasui
looked about for the battleships Hat-
suse and Yashima.

The old and slow battleship, Fuji,
was there ; beyond it the heavy cruisers
Kasugo and Nisshin, and other ships of
the armoured cruiser squadron heaved
and pushed with the tide. Smoke shot
up from stacks of lighter cruisers, auxi-
liaries and torpedo craft. Yasui
counted clumsy hulks fitted as mine-
sweepers with rope trawls and grapnels.
But the two powerful battleships, for
which he looked, were not there.

Howe\er, he then had no time for
wonder upon what duty the missing
battleships might have been detailed.
A string of flags signalled the Sansan-
ami's number. Obeying them, Yasui
steered direct to the "Disabled" sta-
tion, reported to the naval construction
engineer, turned the Sansanami over
to him and went on shore to rep)ort to
his commodore.

He first fancied that the sadness he
saw in the faces of the officers he f)assed
was but his inability to see a smile.
But soon he realized this could not
be so.

Something had happened of which no
one wishes to speak — something which
gave the men, trying not to think of it,
such close-shut, determined lips.

CANADA MONTHLY

Immediately the thought came to
Yasui, "Our army has been defeated!"
For it could not be the Navy; there
was no sign upon any ship of a recent
encounter. It must be the Army!

He ventured to inquire of an officer
whom he knew — a much older man, a
first lieutenant.

"No," his elder answered kindly,
but so that the boy did not venture to
ask more. "Our army, after its vic-
tory, still rests before the next."

Yasui entered the headquarters of
his commodore. Then it was some
ten ible catastrophe to the fleet which so
entirely engrossed the old commodore,
seated awkwardly in European fashion
at his table covered with dispatches,
reports and papers, which his eyes, but
not his mind, examined.

"I, by my own inexcusable careless-
ness in firing upon the mines ordered
to be destroyed, have damaged my ship
so as to be incapable of service. The

mine, in exploding, crushed in "

The Commodore stopped him
sharply.

"Lieutenant Nomoto will report to
me," he named the construction engi-
neer. "Await him!"

The boy, efTaced, stood back. He saw
that his commander's eyes immediately
had returned to the papers upon the
table, that his attention had not ceased
to be absorbed in the one great matter.
Yet Yasui became conscious that,
though his report of the Sansanami had
been disregarded, his Commodore's
consideration now was including him,
somehow, in the problem before him.
Twice he felt his senior's keen, piercing
eyes study him.

Suddenly the Commodore demanded
of him.

"What is it. Lieutenant Yasui?"
"Commodore, I passed the fleet! I
did not see the Hatsuse and the
Yashima. They are not here! A
disaster has occurred?" and he watched
his elder's face for confirmation or
denial of his guess. But the Com-
modore gave him neither.

His senior seemed merely suddenly
reminded of something. He arose and,
opening a drawer in a table at one side,
he took out one from a number of little
wooden boxes, not wider than a hand
and pegged with bamboo nails.
He extended this silently.
Yasui, staring down at it in wonder,
saw that there was a black name
ideograph-painted in ink upon the
cover; but for an instant it told him
nothing. Then he recognized that it
was the Buddhistic posthumous name
of his elder brother of the Army on
the Yalu.

The Commodore quietly slid back
the cover and showed him that it was
filled — with a clipping of his brother's
hair, and a folded paper which con-

ns TOOK FROM HIS COAT THE ASHES OF HIS BROTHER AND STREWED THEM
REVERENTLY BEFORE HIM

tained, Adachi knew, a handful of his
brother's ashes.

"Lieutenant Yasui! Your brother
— after the fire of two regiments had
failed to dislodge the enemy from an
escarpment — gathered and led a keis-
sheitai (certain death detachment)
to storm it! A comrade in his regi-
ment, who recovered his body, sent
this here for you, writing, 'Captain
Yasui so many times has spoken with
pride and envy of his younger brother
in the navy! Before setting upon the
final assault he requested of me, "When
I die, please let my brother know how
brilliantly my death-fiower has blos-
somed!'""

The terrible rebuke of it assailed
Adachi.

"Commodore! Direct me to where
I may lead, or join, a keissheitail"

"The admiral sends in no more hulks
to block the harbor," the Commodore
replied coldly. "If they were to be
sent, it would remain the right of those
who have deserved to man them."

Adachi, holding his brother's ashes
reverently, bent his head over them.
His commander had ceased to think
about him, personally. Lieutenant
Nomoto, the construction engineer,
entered . He gave his report, tersely.

" Repairs — if repairs are to be made,
must be at Sasebo."

SaselDo! So he must take his ship,
the command of which he just had
gained with so great pride, ingloriously
to Japan to be rebuilt — if it were worth
the repairs. The Commodore absently
dismissed the engineer.

Adachi kept his head bowed, await-
Continued on page 129.

Christmas at the Front

NOT MAGI BUT MADMEN ; NOT SHEPHERDS BUT SHRAPNEL ;
NOT CHRIST BUT KAISER ; NOT PEACE ON
EARTH BUT A SWORD

SAID the Wise Man :— "The King
is coming and I go to meet Him."
Two others joined him and, by
Sign of the Star, they travelled
towards Bethlehem. What a voyag-
ing it was ! Across level plains,
where the herds of wild horses thun-
dered in a mad gallop, or fed sweetly
in the rich pastures; laboring over
desolate passes, and sharp-shouldered
hills; by beautiful little villages, and
ancient cities, through a land perfumed
by fragrant fruits, and darkened by
magnificent oak groves; through nar-
row defiles and orchards abloom with
peach blossoms; across the yellow
channels of the Euphrates — prophetic
river ! — and by groves of date-palms
■ — always the Star guiding with its
ineffable yet gentle brilliancy to where
in the little manger, between the ass
and the ox, the Christ-child lay with
His Virgin Mother.

Wearily the old men plodded.

And there came the night when
they reached Bethlehem, and met upon
the hills the "country shepherds abid-
ing in the field, keeping watch over
their flock by night."

Ringing through the starlit night
came the chant of the Angel of the
Lord God. "The glory of the Lord
shone around about them; and they
were sore afraid.

"And the angel said unto them —
Fear not: for, behold I bring you
tidings of great joy, which shall be to
all people

"And suddenly there was with the
angel a multitude of the heavenly
host, praising God, saying: — Glory to
God in the highest, and on earth
Peace, good will towards men."

And as they sang — this multitude
of the heavenly host^ — the small Christ,
the gentlest, the meekest, the most
lovable of human types, the real God
in the real Man, was slumbering in

By ''Kit"

His little crib in the manger between
the brooding cow, and the patient,
munching ass. Outside, the skies were
alight with a strange glory, the angels
were harping their wild beautiful
music — singing their songs of Peace.
The old wise men who had plodded
through the desert wastes, the stony
places, the fruitful orchards, guided
alike by beaming star and angel voices,
were moving towards the humble
stable where lay the Light of the
World, the promise of God to those
whom He made in His own likeness,
the Saviour, the Deliverer.

Think of it: that divine starlit
night, the little Child willing to lie on
a truss of straw between two of God's
little beasts (whom we are so apt to
despise and ill-treat), and the poor
shepherds adoring, and the three
great Kings of the East pouring out
their presents of frankincense and
myrrh.

And think of to-day — to-day in the
trenches ! Men at each other's throats,
the mad charge, the bayonet pinching
its way through the living flesh; the
dying over-ridden by gun-carriages,
the drivers — by their own stories
in the London papers — listening with
closed and suffering eyes to the creak-
ing of the bones of the dying.

Christmas night ! the stars glimmer-
ing, the angels chanting, the beautiful
call of Peace and Goodwill beating
through the air — and here, in God's
world, the shocking clamor of war —
the hideous slaughter — the damned
work of the Devil, trying to undo the
work of the patient, the laboring
Redeemer on His road to Calvary.

Christmas in the trenches ! Per-
haps you think war is all glory, magni-
ficent advances: men shot, but shout-

ing admiring phrases for their flag and
country as they lie in the dirt and mud,
disemboweled, utterly destroyed, de-
lirious, or pounded into splinters by
the gun-carriages, which, under orders,
have to crush them into the earth.
Perhaps, in spite of the awful accounts
in the daily papers, the battle means,
as one fool-woman expressed it: —
"being shot and done with." Well,
take it from me, it does not. If you
had ever seen a shot man kicking holes
in the grass you would not count war
as any sort of "glory." Nor would
you talk of "heroes." We have made
that name "hero" too common, but^ —
let it go —

Christmas Night Without

Santa ; Christmas Morn

Without Daddy

We have had word already that our
Canadian Expeditionary Force think,
every one of them, and all the time,
of Home. What, then, will it be to
any of them, or to any other of our
gallant, humorous, and beloved Brit-
ish Boys at the front on Christmas
Eve ? I question whether death would
not be preferable to thinking of the
little kiddies and Mother, alone — ^with-
out Daddy, and his fine big strength
and power, and his share in the Santy
doings on the night before Christmas.
Poor little Mother— the human crea-
ture who bore and nursed and adored
the dear noisy youngsters, who wrote
letters to Santy and planted them
about the fireplace somewhere, as my
little, but very long stockings were
planted long ago. And the delight of
filling them ! The pretty, gentle hap-
piness !

All this the men at the front, our
tired fellows in the firing line, will
consider when the Bethlehem stars
are shining and the dreadful war pur-

sues its course. If only one could
help with a gentle word; I wonder if
the men at the heroic work will under-
stand the dear patience and love of
Mother, waiting at home.

Do you know what trenches really
are ? They look fine in the pictures.
But, (I have been in Spanish so-called
trenches) and they are pits filled with
things mentionable and unmentionable.
Crude Christmas hospitality !

Think now, of our soldier in some

CANADA MONTHLY

bleak camp-tent or other shelter.
Christmas Night— maybe the stars
shining- — maybe the cold drizzle and
East wind which racks Britain and
Europe generally. The men thinking
of the "Missus" and the little children
at home and Daddy not there to help
to fill the small stockings.

"Seven of 'em, I have," said the big
British Sergeant: "seven little blighters
an' the Missus, an' 'ere I be in the firin'
line Christmas Eve, and Gawd knows

where I'll be to-morrow. The pore
little blighters an' the Missus !"

On the harping wings of the angels
comes the message to all the grieving
and troubled world- — the message of
Peace and Goodwill to all men. What
a mockery !

"Where's Daddy, Mother ? I want
my Daddy for my Christmas." Daddy
is lying dead on Christmas morning —
in a far country, little boy.

. To Kit •

By Arthur Stringer

Author of "The Woman in the Rain," "The Wire Tappers," etc.

WHO'S the woman wid a trace
Av the lough-light on her face,
The woman wid the meltin' eyes and wid a sense

av wit ?
Faith, it's Kit, colleen Kit,
The Kit whose name is spoken soft where moumin' women

sit.
The Kit that all the world must love where lamp or turf is lit!
The brogue that's on her Irish tongue is soft as Cleena

cream.
And th' light that's in her sea-gray eye is sure the light o'

dream !
And the bodagh wid a trouble,
Seein' Kit, is seein' double,
Wid a word to give him grit, —
Grit to brace his sowl a bit
And be stickin' like a burr.
Till he falls to thankin' Kit
For the likes av her, and for it !
What Erin's blade but loves that aisy-goin' smile av

hers ?
What thrush that has a voice that comes within a mile av

hers ?
Who patches up our troubles wid that woman's guile av

hers.
And keeps this world the sweeter for that sootherin' smile

av hers ?
Faith, what's the use av arguin' it ?

For it's Kit, lovin', laughin', crazy Kit,

Who cheers us on to fightin', lads, and tells us when to quit I

Who knows this sad ould world av ours and still keeps

lovin' it !
Sure, it's Kit, our Irish Kit,
The Kit who owns a heart as big as any shay.
The Kit who'd be your friend a thousand miles away !
The Kit who's quick and kind ,
The Kit who's niver blind
To what's beside her way.

The rompin' Kit, it's ten to wan, ye'll spy so close behind
The rompin' troops av Tiny Folk who turn our work to

play !
For she's a colleen still is Kit,
Niver growin' ould a bit,

Teachin' us to pump a tear and drown it in a smile.
Passin' out her Irish song to aise the longest mile !
And we thank you, Colleen Kit,
For your God's own Irish wit
And for keepin' young in heart
(You and Youth can never part !)
And for comin' from the Isle
Where they're Irish to the core
And the green is niver gray !
So miss or hit, here's to you, Kit,
To you, wanst more ! for we love you like a mother.
And like a brother, and like another
Isle av Erin half a xvorld away from Erin's shore !

St. Nicholas and the Lovers

HOW THE GOOD SAINT. DISGUISED AS CUPID, VISITED THE ART STUDENTS AT
"THE ROOST." AND LEFT SOMETHING IN LUCIUS' STOCKING

By Emery Pottle

Illustrated by Dan Sayre Groesbeck

LUCIUS WAS STILL SITTING IN A DAZE, THE PORTRAIT IN HIS HAND

THERE is no occasion to make
excuses for Fanny and Fritz.
When one is— or rather when
two are frank and twenty, and,
at the same time, complacently and
conspicuously in love with each other,
I am not aware that it is a condition
in which excuses are properly made.
Unquestionably they would them-
selves, I dare say rudely, resent any
extenuation of their conduct. And
any one else, as matters ultimately
turned out, will not greatly be inclined
to lay at their doors the obsolescent
charge of indelicacy. Cecelia — Cecelia
Francesca Purvis — and Lucius Pretty-
man did not.

To elaborate a bit- — Fanny Denton
and Cecelia Francesca shared together
a battered apartment on the roof of a
great, gloomy, rambling structure,
devoted to the housing of courageously
impecunious art students. I say on
the roof, since the case was just that:
they lived in an insecure-looking story
which the thrifty owners of the build-
ing had hastily constructed on the
top of everything to contain a new
lot more courageous and more im-
pecunious than the rest. Somewhere
down the canal-like halls Fritz Allen
also had a studio and Lucius Pretty-
man another.

In the daytime the four of them
worked at an art school nearby — con-

sidering, with excep-
tional confidence, art
wasn't so long or
time so fleeting that
they couldn't make
both ends meet in a
Career. Cecelia did
miniatures, in a very
ladylike and minia-
ture way; Fanny in-
clined to conventional
designing; and as for
Denton land Lucius,
the former dashed out
fictitious illustrations
for his fictitious im-
aginings, while Lucius
toiled wor ri s o m e 1 y
along in the "life
class" and brooded deeply over the
possibilities of large, depressing can-
vases devoted to the depicting of
death scenes of famous generals, and
like inspiring subjects.

Of a truth it cannot be said of
Cecelia and Lucius that they were in
the bloom of their youth, though, to
be sure, Cecelia's spirit was innocently
inexperienced to an appalling degree,
and she was wont to clothe herself in
garments of a limply artistic drapery,
suggesting, in hue at least, the im-
mortal, blithe Botticelli maidens. At
any rate her soul was youthful and her
nature unselfish and beautiful.

Lucius probably never was young.
The unpliable strands of his nature
seemed never to loosen. One in-
stinctively knew that Lucius's favorite
poem contained rigid the sentiment
that life is real, life is earnest. His high,
pale brow betokened in its concen-
trated little knot of lines above the
nose, a spirit furrowed with the plough-
share of Serious Effort. . . . He
moved in and out among his fellows,
a gentle, shabby, good-tempered, ab-
normally shy creature whom all loved,
when they were not consumed with a
helpless rage at the ponderous preci-
sion of his mental and physical work-
ings.

It was natural enough that the four
of them, living together in the "Roost"

— so they called the parlous top stor\
- — should be much in each other's
company. Youthful art is not a
peculiarly solitary profession; and,
moreover, their frank poverty, and the
franker attachment of Fritz to Fanny
gave additional strength to their bond.

To Cecelia, the wooing of her room-
mate afforded a first-hand observation
of what to her was the most thrillingly
beautiful and complex emotion of the
world. Fanny, herself, being some-
what practical even in the affairs <it
her heart, did not encourage Cecelia's
sentimental out-breathings. So it hap-
pened that Cecelia fell into the habit
of confiding the progress of the delicate
footsteps of love to Lucius Pretty-
man.

The two men, of an evening, would
drop into the studio of the girls — a
very proper apartment, to be sure,
with the beds converted artlessly into
divans and all the feminine evidences
hid in the closet. Lucius really was
brought in the beginning by Fritz U>
divert Cecelia from the fascination of
his methods with Fanny. And it
generally turned out that the two
serious ones would early retire to the
kitchen — an elastic apartment made
by the folding of a screen about a
little gas-stove — there to whisper and
to cook up indigestible messes for
refreshment; while Fritz and Fanny-
well, it really is not our province to
disclose the sweet story of their affec-
tions.

It was in late October when Fanny
briefly apprised Cecelia that she was
engaged to Fritz. Cecelia kissed her
rapturously. "My dear, my dear,'|
she cried softly, "isn't it wonderful !'

"O, I don't know," remarked her
friend, sharpening a lead pencil judi-
ciously. "Fritzie is a nice boy. And
I'm sure he's very lucky to get me."

CeceHa was staggered. "Oh,
Fanny ! How can you ! Oh, it seems
to me love is the most beautiful '

"O yes, everybody gets it sooner or
later, they say," broke in Fanny
prosaically. "It takes an awful lot
of your time, though. Heavens ! I

haven't done a thing in a month."

"Dear, how can you joke about it ?"
sighed Cecelia.

Fanny looked up in surprise. "Mercy
Cecelia, it's no joke. Lend me your
gamboge, will you ?"

Poor Cecelia, she was too bewildered
to reply.

That same night Fritz lounged into
Prettyman's room. Lucius was brood-
ing solemnly over a pipe.

"Well, Lucy," Fritz let fall casually,
"the little girl and I have hit it off."

"I beg your pardon," said Lucius
uncertainly.

"Fanny and L you know — engaged
— 'love, true love, undying,' " grinned
Fritz with appreciation.

Lucius rose with grave ceremony and
put out his hand. "Allen, I — I con-
gratulate you, sir, she's a splendid
woman. You are a fortunate man."

"Sure, Lucy, that's the eye. She's
a little peach. Guess we'll do the
trick all right."

Prettyman sat down heavily. He
could not grasp the insouciant Fritz's
attitude.

"But " he hesitated laboriously.

"You aren't going to cry about it,
are you ?" said his friend briskly,
lighting a cigarette.

Lucius seemed about to reply; in-
stead he lapsed into a mood of impres-
sive thoughtfulness. After a long
silence he stammered blushingly, "Ah
—Allen — ah — did you — ah — if you
don't mind my asking — was it — ah—
hard to do ?"

"Was what hard ?"

"Why, the — the — the asking her,
Allen ?"

Allen's eyes twinkled. "Well, old
boy, it — it was harder not to, you
know."

"Ah," ejaculated Lucius uncom-
prehendingly.

"Ever tried it ?" confidentially re-
marked Fritz.

Lucius flushed. "No sir, I — I — I —

"It's great," said Allen, as he de-
parted, "you never can tell till you
try." _

Lucius Prettyman sat for hours that
night, alone in his room, scarcely con-
scious of the chilling atmosphere, mus-
ing modestly on the strange, madden-
ing ways of love. The result of his
cogitations amounted to this: "I
couldn't do it, I couldn't — I don't see
how they do."

The next day he overtook Cecelia
on her way home from the art school.
For some reason they both flushed
scarlet at sight of each other. It was
very difficult to start any suitable
topic of conversation. At length
Cecelia timidly referred to the flames
of the divine fire which now publicly lit
the souls of Fritz and Fanny. The

CANADA MONTHLY

two discussed the situation evasively.
They wondered if, after all, "their

love was they seemed so Love,

real love, was such a Yes, it was

a noble, a " But there was a new

and discomforting element between
Cecelia and Lucius that attracted and
compelled, even while it distressed and
bewildered. It was precisely as if
these two onlookers somehow were
vicariously assuming all the sweet
confusion, all the tumultuous emotions,
the modest csctacies that Fanny and
Fritz seemed not to undergo. Cecelia,
indeed, took the conversation so ser-
iously that she went to bed with a
nervous headache.

Once the crucial hour of engage-
ment was over, Fanny and Fritz had
more leisure to look about them.
They bore the rosy wreath of love with
great composure. And since there is
that in love — like misfortune — which
dislikes singleness of experience, they
presently cast about them to involve
their unattached friends in a toil like
their own.

"Wouldn't it be simply perfect if
poor old Sissy and Lucy
should fall in love with each
other ?" considered Fanny,
one afternoon.

"Those two !" replied Fritz.
"Why, there's no more

f 11 i\ Tl r*p - —

"Oh, isn't there ! Watch
them. Cecelia is a mush."

"But Lucy — why, you'd as
soon think of a
Methodist chapel
playing on the
beach at Coney
Island, as Lucy in
love."

"Pooh," retort-
ed Fanny, airily,
"he's mad about
her. Don't tell

me. When they're old and get it
they're perfectly dotty. I've seen it in
them."

"Have they said anything ?" in-
quired Fritz, fascinated at Fanny's
idea.

"Said anything ! They don't dare."
Of a truth, it would seem that the
astute Fanny had accurately diagnosed
the situation of Cecelia Francesca and
Lucius. Up to the time of the cul-
mination of Fanny's romance, the
two had taken each other's society in
a grateful, unconscious freedom, but
now their slightest encounter covered
them with a dreadful confusion. They
became tongue-tied, though the desire
to talk was riotous within them. The
embarrassment of Lucius, in especial,
was distressing to observe. Cecelia

"OH, it's mean I CRUEL I FANNY, HOW COULD YOU|! O DBAR I O DEAR I"

clad herself in dull draperies of a
sombre hue — as if she were doing a
penitential office for the soul of love.
In fact, instead of performing the
light-hearted service of cup-bearers
to the young gods, Fanny and Fritz,
they hung about funereally in corners.
This abysmal condition was, in the
early stages, a delight to the lovers.
They considered it an ephemeral
affectation, due in part to age and in
part to extreme inexperience. There-
fore, to help matters along, they made
jovial comments with ill-concealed
meanings to Cecelia and to Lucius — a
form of diversion of so ghastly and so
indelicate a character to the serious
pair that Cecelia was wont to end the
evening in a burst of tears. On one
occasion when Fritz referred, with
humorous intent, to love as an un-
scratchable itching of the heart, Cecelia
became almost faint with disgust, and
poor Lucius got up ponderously and
retired to his own quarters. So
brazen were the manifestations of
affection on the part of the engaged
ones, and so poignantly barbed were
ihe insinuating arrows of their wit,
Cecelia could no longer bring herself
to comment upon the case to Lucius,
while he, in turn, almost dreaded the
sight of her.

They avoided each other. Pretty-
man no longer came of an evening to
the studio of the girls. And Cecelia,
anguished of heart, would retire alone
to the kitchen, there to sniffle weakly,
her ears stuffed with cotton that she
might not hear the lovers. The very
necessity, as they conceived it, that
sundered their companionship, worked,
as one might expect, to the incan-
descence of their, as yet, unnamed
emotions. Cecelia, in a blush of
maidenly indiscretion, secretly painted
from memory a miniature of Lucius —
which on completion she hid. Pretty-
man left off the imaginary composition
of battle scenes and let his mind wan-
der to the delights of statuesque houris
• — ^with the face of Cecelia — washing
their feet publicly on marble balconies.
When, toward Christmas, Fanny and
Fritz were forced to the conclusion
that their amorous devices to entrap
their friends were resulting in apparent
failure — for Fanny's intuitions, agile
as they were, could not compass a
concealed love, like the worm i' the
bud— they were frankly annoyed.

"They're a pair of dubs," said Fritz,
in irritation.

"Sissy is really the limit," acqui-
esced Fanny. "Pm sure we've done all
we could to help the thing along."

"Oh, well, I move we shake them
both. They're too old to fool with.
They've had their chance." And with
this Fritz closed the discussion.

On the afternoon before Christmas'
Day Fanny was alone in the studio,

CANADA MONTHLY

dressing to go out with Fritz. Dis-
covering that at the moment she had
had no clean pocket-handkerchief, she
resorted simply to Cecelia's stock.
Rummaging through the lattcr's mod-
est trunk for the article in question,
she unearthed the miniature of Lucius.

"Well, my heavens !" she exclaimed.
"The silly old things." Whereupon
she sat down abruptly and shrieked
with laughter.

Fritz found her on the floor, the
miniature in her hand, giggling. She
held it out to him mutely, too over-
come for words.

"Great goodness," he cried, "it's
Lucy — Lucy, looking like a perfect
lady of the 1830 type !"

"I ask you !" began Fanny, recover-
ing speech, "I ask you ! I found it in
Cecelia's trunk. I was looking for a
hanky. She did it !"

"The sly thing ! Fan, this is great !
What'll we do with it ?"

"Do with it ! 'Tisn't ours — we'll
put it back. Sissy'd die if she knew
we had seen it," said Fanny.

"Not on your life we'll put it back.
Let's have some fun out of it."

"But Cecelia "

' Cecelia jiothing ! She's fooled us.
We'll fool her."

"Now Fritzie — ^I won't stand for — "

"Oh, that's all right — it'll be the
joke of our lives. Ah, say, don't fuss,
think of the fun."

"Well," weakened Fanny, "it would
be fun to do something with it."

"I'll tell you what ! We'll do it up
and send it to Lucius for a Christmas
present. He won't think of its being
a josh, anyway. And he knows that
no one but Sissy could possibly do a
miniature of him."

"It's a sweet idea," replied Fanny
rapturously. "We'll do it now while
she's away. . . . She must be
crazy about him. Do vou suppose
he "

"Well, he will be, if he isn't now,
when he sees this !" assured Fritz.

The miniature forthwith was wrap-
ped up delicately in white tissue paper
and tied with a little white ribbon in
which was tucked a piece of holly.
"That's bully," declared Fritz joy-
ously, "and I'll leave it in Lucius's
room when he's out to-night — he's
going to some beastly lecture on Art."

"Sissy's gone out for the afternoon
and she's going to stay out for dinner,
too, and the theatre afterwards," re-
flected Fanny. "She has some grand
friends who ask her once in awhile, you
know. So we're perfecty safe. She
won't miss the thing to-night.
It's really dreadful to do it, but it's so
funny !"

That evening at an hour when he
judged Prettyman would have returned
from his lecture, Fritz Allen wandered

casually in upon him. Lucius seemed
excessively confused at sight of his
visitor. He thrust something hastih
under a pile of papers on the table
before him.

"What you hiding, Lucy t" l)egan
Fritz without hesitation, "a Christmas
present ?"

"Nothing. I — I "

"Oh, say, Lucy — I saw you now.
What is it ? Out with it. Can't you
trust me ?"

Allen made a sudden dash for the
table. Prettyman tried to intercept
him. He was too late. F"ritz, ward-
ing him off with one hand, held up the
miniature in the other, yelling with
glee. "O, Lucy, O, Lucy ! It's a
picture of you !"

"Give that here," demanded Lucius,
peony-red.

Allen regarded the little portrait
critically. "It's mighty good, Lucy,
it's fine. Who did it ?"

"I— I— I "

"Out with it !"

"I don't know. I found it here,"
confessed the reluctant Lucius. "I
suppose it's a gift."

"Oh, tell that to the elevator-man !
You can't fool me," giggled Fritz.
"Naughty, naughty ! Say, who did
it, Lucy !"

Prettyman attempted dignity.
"You needn't believe me if you don't
care to. I found it here when I came
home."

"Found it here, old man ! Vou
don't say so. That's funny !"

Allen sat do^vn and eyed Lucius
solemnly.

"It was here when I came home,"
repeated Lucius awkwardly. "I — It
is very strange."

"Strange ! I should say so. But —
say, Lucius, there's only one person
who could have done it."

"Allen, what do you mean ?"

"Mean. Oh, you know. Cecelia
Francesca Purvis ! That's whom I
mean."

Lucius was flooded with sentimental
blushes. "Oh, no, \~0h, no !"

"Sure she did, old boy. I — ^well, of
course, I don't want to butt in on
your affairs — well, it looks, you know,
as if "

"Allen, I won't have you talk that
way about a lady."

"Why, no offense, Lucy, I'm sure.
It was mighty nice of her."

"You don't think, Allen, that she—"

"Well, Lucy, what I think is this:
That girl is strong for you. Of course,

if you don't care for her, why "

It happens that way at times. The
most reserved and timid of us reach a
point when our doors are opened wide,
when we speak with the tongues of
men about the angels. It was so with
Lucius Prettyman. He began to talk
to Fritz. He talked wildlv well.

There was nothing hidden in him that
"was not revealed, and even the light-
minded Allefi became nervous and
uncomfortable. And the burden of
Lucius's song was always Cecelia,
Cecelia, Cecelia. Fritz had a sicken-

I' ig feeling that the thing had ceased
J be a joke.
"If you feel like all this you say you
o, old chap," Allen got out lamely,
you ought to do something about it.
I'd tell her."

"Oh, I couldn't. I don't think I
could," stammered Lucius, cold with
fear at the thought.

"I'll tell you what," Fritz suggested
hopefully, "you write her a note and
ask her to meet you in the Park to-
morrow morning, Christmas Day, and
say you have something important to
tell her. Don't mention the miniature
— that would embarrass her. Just tell
her you want to talk to her, and I'll
slip it under the girls' door to-night."

"\\'oul(l she ?" Lucius got out in
awed tones.

"Would she what ?"

"Come — if I asked her ?"

"Sure she would. Try her." Fritz
was growing more confident. ."You
just write her. And I'll leave it at
their room now."

Prettyman, between distracted love
and awful self-abasement, after tearing
up a dozen sheets of paper, managed
to set forth his modest request.

"Fine," said Fritz heartily when the
letter was submitted to his practiced
eye. 'That'll draw her likfe a — a
plaster, you know."

"Allen, I don't know how to thank
you — for — for " Lucius was wring-
ing Fritz's hand in the excess of grati-
tude.

With the letter in his hand, Allen
hurried surreptitiously to Fanny. He
judged that Cecelia Francesca had not
yet returned from her festal day. He
rapped cautiously on the studio door.

"Who is it ?" demanded Fanny,
opening the door a hair's breadth.

"Me."

"Mercy, Fritz, you can't come in !
I'm just "

"Yes, I know, but there's something
doing. I've got to talk to you, I
don't want to come in. Can't you —
.say, Cecelia isn't there ?"

"No. Wait a minute."

Presently the door opened wide
enough to allow Fanny to put out her
head. "What is it ?" she inquired
with excitement. "Did you give
Lucius the "

"That's it, I did. I've just been
in his room. He's foolish about it.
Sat and grinned at his picture like a
monkey. Went on about Cecelia till
it made me sick. He's all up in the
air — says he loves her like anything.
Oh, Lord."

Fanny was instantly impressed.

CANADA MONTHLY

"My goodness ! What did you say !"

"I — I told him she was crazy about
him. I think I did. He asked me
what to do."

"What did you tell him ?" demanded
Fanny feverishly.

"Well, you know, I — I felt sort of
rotten about it. He's so serious over
the thing. I — say, Fanny, it looks to
me like a mess."

"Stupid, what did you do ?"

"I told him to write her a note asking
her to meet him to-morrow in the
Park — In the morning — and I said I'd
leave it here for Sissy — She "

"It's perfectly dreadful," gasped
Fanny, "she sha'n't have that note."

"Sha'n't "

"Certainly not." Fanny was decisive.

"But — why, you can't — you'll bust
up their show if you don't let her "

"Idiot ! If Cecelia got that note
the first thing she'd do would be to go
and look at that old miniature. And
it wouldn't be there. And she'd
accuse me. And there'd be a sicken-
ing time."

"But, Fan " Allen was utterly

confused at the turn of affairs.

"You've got to get that picture back,
somehow. I don't care how. Give
me that note. Give it to me. Cecelia
sha'n't have it till you get the minia-
ture."

"How in the deuce can I get it ?"

"When is he going to meet her ?"
asked Fanny.

"At nine, I think."

"Well, while he's out then, you'll
have to break into his place and steal
it and bring it here. I'll put it back.
Then I'll give Cecelia the note and say
I found it on the floor."

"I can't see how that "

"No, of course you can't. But /
can. It'll be in her trunk, won't it ?
And she can't accuse me of having
taken it — at least, not right away.
I'll get out of it somehow."

"You're dreadfully virtuous all at
once," retorted Fritz, sulkily.

"It's worried me all the evening —
taking that picture. And I'd never
have done it if it hadn't been for you !"

"Well, I like that ! _Who found it
first, anyway, and "

"Ssh ! There's Cecelia coming.
Don't you dare to argue with me.
You've got to get the picture. Cecelia,
dear, is that you ? ^ow must be tired
to death. Come in and let's get to
bed right off," sweetly finished Fanny,
hastily concealing Prettyman's note
in the folds of her rohe de chambre.

In all probability the somewhat
imperfect scheme of Fanny's would
have worked in the fashion she antici-
pated had it not been for a reason of
which she naturally could have known
nothing. It had been Cecelia's ro-
mantic custom, since the painting of
the miniature, to take it from its

hiding-place and to bid it the tender,
whispered good-nights she might not
properly bestow on the original. She
did this in the kitchen at a moment
when Fanny was under the impression
that Cecelia was saying her prayers.
In consequence, on this particular
evening, Cecelia Francesca went to her
trunk to perform the last sacred rite
of what had been to her a peculiarly
happy day — to wish Lucius a "Merry
Christmas." Her fingers, touching the
familiar place, did not feel the minia-
ture. She hurriedly dashed out the
contents of the trunk, her bosom
heaving with anxiety. She could not
find the token. For a moment Cecelia
stood petrified with shame and fear.
Then suddenly the truth flashed in
upon her. Fanny ! She must have
taken it. No one else could have.
The gentle Cecelia shook with a tor-
rent of anger, the like of which she had
never known. Like a wild nocturnal
avenger she flew at Fanny in her bed.

"How dared you !" she cried, snatch-
ing the bedclothing from the terrified
conspirator.

"O, how dared you !" She shook
her violently. "Don't lie ! I know
you took it ! You stole it ! You —
you — you — thief ! I hate you ! Where
is it ? Where is it ?"

Cecelia jerked the collapsing Fanny
from her cot and towered above her,
cowering on the floor. "It's cruel !
How could you ! Beast !"

Fanny essayed to speak," but Cecelia
looked so tall and terrifying in the
dim gaslight of the room that, for the
life of her, she could not get out a
word.

"Beast !" repeated Cecelia, with
awful tragicality.

Fanny recovered herself slightly.
"Cecelia," she quavered, "it was only
a joke '■

But Cecelia's rage was spent. She
sat down weakly on the trunk-top and
sobbed. Long, shivering, dreadful and
convTjlsive sobs. "O it's mean ! Cruel!
Fanny, how could you ! O dear ! O
dear! O dear !"

To describe the mental state of
Fanny is hardly necessary. She dared
not speak, she lay wretchedly on her
bed for half an hour, in her ears the
monotonous moans of the girl over
there on the trunk. Sometimes Fanny
was enraged, sometimes repentant,
sometimes hysterically tearful and
sometimes full of nervous laughter.
"I .shall die if she keeps this up much
longer," she assured herself. Finally
she leaped from her cot, flung on a
wrapper and slippers, tied up her head
in a scarf and precipitately left the
room. She ran straight to Fritz.

"Fritz, F"ritz," she whispered, as she
heard sleepv sounds within his quarters.
"Fritz !"

Continued on page 13.5.

iw»iHMMimiiiiniiiiinnfliiiMniffliffliinminmtiMtmif;;^|3i3l

The Dream of Prussianism i

A MAN WHO HAS LIVED IN GERMANY FURNISHES A
CLOSE-UP-TO-THE-CAMERA VIEW OF THE REVOLT-
ING REASONS FOR THE PRESENT WORLD-WAR

By A. Vernon Thomas

Illustrated from Photographs

imiiiiiiiiiuiiiiiiiiiiiir

MR. ARNOLD BENNETT'S
recent dictum that "to come
at the truth, by observation,
about a foreign country is
immensely, overpoweringly, difficult"
shall not discourage me. This is only
Mr. Bennett's humor.

For, while telling us that a nine
years' residence in France would not
justify him even in writing a cheap
handbook about French character and
life, Mr. Bennett feels himself able,
"on general principles," knowing noth-
ing of Germany by actual experience,
to offer us a close analytical study of
the German soldier's mind. Sub-
consciously in this mind, Mr. Bennett
tells us, is the recollection of social
and economic wrongs. And this recol-
lection, he assures us, will, at some
psychological moment of the war,
prevail over bumptiousness and self-
conceit, giving the battle into the
hands of the Allies.

While I have no great faith in
arguments based upon "general prin-
ciples," I feel that Mr. Bennett is
right in concluding, as he does con-
clude, that the heart of the German
people is in the war. I reach this con-
clusion as the result of what I observed
during four years in which I earned
my living in Germany and three years
in which I was similarly occupied in
Switzerland, a few miles south of the
German border.

During this period, for weeks and
months together, I spoke nothing but
German. Indeed, on returning to
England, whose shores contained me
till I was twenty-one, I was informed
that I spoke English with a German
accent ! On my table as I write is a
bronze paper knife which I won in a
boat race upon the river Neckar at
Heidelberg, my four companions in

the boat being Germans. With four
so

GERMAN STUDENT IN CORPS UNIFORM — NOTE CUTS
ON HIS FACE FROM DUELLING

German companions I have rowed on
the Neckar from Heilbronn to Heidel-
berg in one day, a distance of sixty
miles. I have tramped all over the
Black Forest and the Odenwald and
have been up and down the Rhine
several times between Mannheim and
Rotterdam.

In these amenities of my sojourn
in Germany and in more humdrum
occupation I have seen the Germans, I
think, in every conceivable mood from
Sunday-afternoon Gemutlichkeit to
Monday-morning absorption. I have
seen them in laughter and in tears, at
work and at play; in brief, in most
in the varied states and activities of
which this our mortal life consists.

I admit that all this may go for nothing
in a discussion of the question whether
the heart of the German people is in the
war, but as to that the readers of
CANADA MONTHLY must decide.

At the head of a pension, or board-
ing house, in a German university
town are an elderly professor and his
wife who will be vividly remembered
by all — and their name must be legion
— who have obtained shelter under
their interesting, attractive and not
less hospitable roof. And many times
since the beginning of the war I have
thought of this old couple, with whom
I boarded for two years. It is Herr
Professor's mental outlook which I
wish to use as an illustration, but I
cannot refrain from interpolating a
word as to Frau Professor.

She is, I think, the most remarkable
woman I have ever met. She is the
Professor's second wife, and, although
German, lived for many years in
Alsace with her first husband. On
the strength of her French connec-
tions, Frau Professor fills her pension
every summer with French students
and high-school boys, who come to
learn German. For two or three
months each summer her pension
overflows and sleeping accommodation
has to be found in neighboring estab-
lishments for many of her flock.

But the entire flock takes its meals
in the pension proper, from thirty to
forty sitting do^vn to dinner and sup-
per, breakfast in Germany being an
unimportant and unceremonious affair.
At other times of the year Frau Pro-
fessor presides over a less numerous
assortment of English, American,
Canadian, French and Russian and
German students.

The whole establishment lives,
moves and has its being through Frau
Professor. Not merely does she inspire

»G60D«

^>'iMi^^l

t7I

#k6»

52"'^ S£S^

— *"^_. -g.? jirii

A CERTAIN PORTION OF A GERMAN STUDENT'S UNIVERSITY LIFE
IS FRANKLY DEVOTED TO FRIVOLITY

the whole establishment- — she is the
whole establishment. Every detail of
finance devolves upon her. Every
tradesman deals personally with her,
and personally, of course, she directs
the servants. Frau Professor is the
chief, and far the best, teacher of
German in the pension. To provide
opportunities for conversation she
arranges excursions and personally
conducts them. At table she is the
centre of discussions, and with what
art and tact she directs them ! In
diplomacy and strategy Bismarck and
von Moltke are babes compared to
Frau Professor.

I have seen Frau Professor one
moment shake with temper when
incensed at a loutish man-servant and
the next beam angelically at a fresh
arrival from France. At her beck and
call are a select company of young
ladies and young gentlemen of the
locality whom she disposes cleverly
and discreetly amongst her pension-
aires for conversational purposes. She
marshalls her little army with
infinite skill. It advances and re-
treats without a hitch. An accom-
plished pianist, Frau Professor leads
in the salon as she leads every-
where. If it is a song, Frau Professor
is at the piano. Frau Professor is there
also if it is a cello or violin piece.

Compared to Frau Professor, her
husband, a broken down pedagogue,
cuts a sorry figure. He has worldly wis-

CANADA MONTHLY

I ■ dom enough not to challenge
Frau Professor in the man-
agement of the pension, but
he has never for a moment
relinquished a claim to men-
tal superiority. He thor-
oughly despises her intel-
lectual powers, while Frau
Professor in her heart has
only pity for her husband
upon whom she lavishes her
every care. She is a big-
hearted woman. If it were
not that Frau Professor's
surpassing cleverness reduces
him very much to a cipher,
Herr Professor would pre-
cipitate lots of trouble. But
he gets no tether and is, to
boot, a little lazy. Yet in-
wardly he chafes at his posi-
tion in the pension. His
chief revenge is to descant
at table upon the virtues of
his first wife, endeavoring to
create the impression that,
as far as matrimony proper
is concerned, he has, in his
opinion, only been married
once.

While no doubt much of
Herr Professor's mental make-
^^^ up and his mode of express-
^^^ " ing it is incidental, I submit
that the essential attitude
of his mind is characteristic of the
German professorial class. That atti-
tude, which was under my observation
for two years, never varied and was in
the main absolutist. It was the attitude

of mind which assumes to decide all
big things not only for itself but for
others. Scores of times I have heard
Herr Professor subjectively end con-
versations with the curt chuckle, —
"Das wissen wir." He would eject
this formula epilogically after listen-
ing to views with which he didn't
agree and after stating an opinion
contrary to the one which evidently
obtained, at table or elsewhere.

"Das wissen wir." We know that.
And the "We" in this case did not, at
least directly, mean God. It meant
the whole body of German professors
with Herr Professor an integral part
of it. They, with God no doubt in the
background, had examined the matter
and had come to a decision. "Das
wissen wir" was the result. The con-
trary opinions of ordinary and unin-
spired persons were not exactly to be
suppressed or even countered violently.
They might be listened to with amuse-
ment and even with interest. For a
little chuckle and a curt "Das ■wissen
wir" would always put him right with
his fellow-professors and with God.

Herr Professor's mind accepted fully
the militarist position. I fail to recall
from him even a hint of criticism of
Germany's autocratic constitution, of
the position of the Kaiser and his
ministers, or of the Prussian military
spirit. Indeed during my four years'
stay in Germany I never heard the
Kaiser discussed at any time, with one
exception. This was the remark of a
hotel portier, usually very keen fel-
lows, that the Kaiser's telegram to

THE GERMAN PROFESSOR (WITH FAMILY) WHO SAYS :
"DAS WISSEN wir"

President KriiKor caused losses to
German financiers. When first leav-
ing England for Cicrniany I remember
that my father's parting word, my
" Reisepfennii!," as it were, was to keep
my mouth i)articularly shut regarding
the Kaiser. Cases of Lesc-Majcste
were very common about that time.

To return briefly to the German pro-
fessor. It seems to me that the
militarist writings of such outstanding
German -professors as Heinrich von
Treitschke, Adolf Wagner, Hans Del-
briick, Ernst Haeckel, etc., are some
evidence that the intellect of the
nation is behind the German war
lords. It is argued that the German
professors, being civil servants, cannot
engage in political controversy. But
apparently they can as long as their
contributions are on the side of mili-
tarism.

Although Treitschke has been dead
for nearly twenty years his ultra-
Jingoistic spirit seems still to dominate
the political professors. If there are
democrats of power and influence
amongst the German professors we
hear nothing of them. They must be
content to reserve their speculations
for the dusty shelves of libraries in-
stead of bringing them into vitalizing
touch with popular opinion. It is
Treitschke, the panegyrist of the
HohenzoUerns and the man who said,
— "Let us take Holland; then we shall
have them (colonies) ready-made,"
whose writings are chiefly before the
German people. Haeckel, now eighty
years of age, although unable to solve
the riddle of the universe, is positive at
least that Germany is fighting for
freedom, justice, and commercial fair
play.

Amongst other contemporary Ger-
man professors are Delbr ck and
Eucken, both approaching the Psal-
mist's three score years and ten. Both
are justifying the German war lords.
Delbr ck, the tutor of princes, is the
man who said of Bismarck's criminal
curtailment of the Ems telegram:
"Blessed be the hand that traced
those lines." Rudolf Eucken, the
refined idealist, is to-day justifying
the Belgian campaign of desolation
and destruction. Truly the German
general staflf works hand in hand with
the lecture-room.

It was not always so in Germany.
Since the present century began two
great German professors have passed
away in Theodor Mommsen and
Rudolf Virchow. The latter was the
great pathologist who converted Berlin
from a disease-infected area into a
healthful city. When he died in 1902,
the City of Berlin carried out his
funeral. Virchow was a man of wide
sympathies and these led him many
times into fierce political strife. In
1849 he was deprived of his academic

CANADA MONTHLY

chair on account of his leanings to-
ward the revolutionists. Later he be-
came a member of the Prussian Land-
tag and later still of the Reichstag.
Here, .side by side with the great Ger-
man historian Mommsen, Virchow
vigorously assailed the fx)licy of Bis-
marck and drew from the Iron Chan-
cellor the scornful nickname of "pro-
fessor-politician." In 18G5 a scene
took place between Virchow and Bis-
marck in which they almost came to
lilows. Negotiations for a duel were
set on foot, but came to nothing.
Apparently the breed of outstanding
democrats like Virchow and Mommsen
is extinct in the German universities.
At Heidelberg I remember hearing
a public lecture by one of the smaller
fry of the German academicians, a
professor named Tilly. Professor
Tilly had previously lectured at a
Scotch university, but he had left after
a row with the students over a ques-
tion of naticmality. In the lecture to
which I have just referred. Professor
Tilly described the probable develop-
ment of the German Empire. His
conclusions were of the most striking
kind. In what seemed to me a crude
way, he outlined the inevitable falling
apart of the British Empire and the
absorption of a considerable portion
of it by a ready and waiting Germany.
What was to happen to Canada I do
not clearly remember, but I remember
quite distinctly that the fortunes of
war were to land Australia reposefully
in the lap of Germany. The point I
wish to make is that it was possible
for a German professor to deliver a
public lecture of this kind in a German
university town in recent years, and
to be listened to in dead earnestness.
Another recollection which comes
to me is that of Professor Kuno Fis-
cher, renowned philosopher and Shake-
spearean critic. I attended several
of his lectures in Heidelberg, these, as
is quite frequently the case in Germany,
being free to the public. Whether all
the stories told about Kuno Fischer
are true I am not prepared to say, but
it is certainly true that his conceit
was enormous. I have still a vivid
mental picture of how he looked on his
walks abroad in Heidelberg. A mas-
sive figure, he went along with one
hand behind his back and in the other
a stick. His face was large, clean-
shaven and grimly set, a smashed or
very flat nose giving him almost a
pugnacious appearance. His was
obviously a personality into which it
would.be next to impossible to drive
new ideas.

The stories told of Kuno Fischer's
conceit and eccentricity are legion.
He hated beards and moustaches and
relegated them to the back of his
lecture room. He is said, on one
occasion, to have reprimanded a beard-

ed freshman who ventureti too near
the frcmt of his lecture room with the
remark that the garb "of our primeval
ancestors" was incompatible with t!i<'
dignity of a philosopher, adding that
before he could begin his lecture hr
must ask his primeval friend to tak( a
place nearer the back. A i^rejudi' >■
against the admission to his cla—
r(X)m of "women and dogs" is al-o
attributed to Kuno Fischer. He
asserted some sort of claim to the
title of "Excellenz" and insisted uijon
being addressed by it. It is said of
him that he once remarked: "How-
strange it is that the sons of gnat
men seldom emulate their father^.
There's my sfm, for instance, only an
ol)scure doctor of medicine." Kumi
Fischer is also credited with the saying;
that the German Empire contain* '1
but two philosophers — and that "the
other one" was at Strasburg.

Let us leave the German professors
and glance at other sides of national
life. Of recent years British games,
notably football, have been introduced
into Germany and have attained quite
a vogue. I was for two or three win-
ters a member of a German football
club and noted constantly how my
German companions always drifted
into a machine-like way of playing
and how they seldom developed
initiative. Rules and order were
meticulously insisted upon, not in
itself, perhaps, a bad thing. But
when the German young men played
football they played it as soldiers.
It was the same in a gymnastic class
or in rowing. The militar>' spirit per-
vaded. I have heard a German boy
in a boat furiously denounce another
member of the crew for some slight
and trivial inattention. Similarly
on the football field any lapse from
what was considered correct play
would be vigorously commented upon.

The fact is that the military spirit
has dominated the whole atmosphere
of Germany, as fashion and gaiety may
be said to have dominated the entire
atmosphere of Paris. Berlin has been
well called a city of soldiers, but the
truth is that the whole German nation
has been a nation of soldiers. The
spirit of immediate obedience to
constituted authority, with paternal-
ism as its necessary counterpart, is lo
be found everywhere. Conflicts be-
tween civilians and soldiers have been
quite frequent in Germany. There
has always been a nervousness as to
the possibility of unintentionally jost-
ling an officer in the street, or <jt
offending him in a restaurant or other
public place. The tradition, of course,
is that a German soldier's honor must
be defended at any cost. And in the
upholding of this tradition man\
German civilians have been murdered
Continued on page 122.

Say Him

Good-bye

WHEREIN GULD ANNIE MALONEY, ALL BY

HER LONE, GETS TO SEE HER BOY

AT "SUDBRUY" DESPITE THE

GERMAN BOMB

By Louise R. Rorke

Illustrated by P. C. Sheppard

"A'

N' I haven't the money to

take me toVal Cartypz. It

do be costin' a sight o' money,

that do be."

"A good deal of money," acquiesced

McNaughton, smiling at the wrinkled

old face beside him.

"An' so," the old Irish voice went
on, a little cadence of satisfaction
glimmering through it, "so I just sold
the bit pig — for shure I can live widout
it, an' what would I be wantin' wid a
pig, an' Jimmy off that far an' livin'
on army biscuits ? — I can get through
the winter somehow. An' the money
I got for the little fella' got me a ticket
to Sudbruy; for Jimmy wrote me the
throops do be goin' by there, an' Sud-
bruy's not so far. But it's a woeful
long way for an ould body like me,
as never went on the cars before save
to a Twelft' o' July in Fordham, or a
bit Sunday School Excursion with me
own man an' the childher. Ah, well,
me own man's been dead this twenty
year an' more, an' the childher — God
keep 'em — scattered about the world.
Jimmy's the baby — an' him off to Val
Cartyez to be a soldier !

"He's a good boy, Jimmy is, an'
ever since he went out west to work
I've got his little bit money every
week. An' he wrote an' asked me
would he go — for I might be needin'
it, he said; an' if — if he didn't come
home, he said, — but shure he'd come
home to me again ! — then, — then what
would I be doin' ? But I wrote him
I'd not be shtandin' in his way. The
lad's heart's that set on it — an' all
the other lads wid him goin'! It's
never my boy 'ud shtay behind afraid
like. For my father was a soldier
away back beyond in Kilmarnock,
an' his father was a soldier before that.
So I wrote the lad not to be frettin' —
me an' the bit pig 'ud pull through
the winter shplendid, and I'd ways
o' makin' money he knowed nothin'
about.

"But I got to think-
in' maybe he'd be a
bit lonesome, comin'
down by wid niver a
look at his ould mother.
A good-bye ye write,
black an' white an'
cold on paper isn't like
the good-bye ye say
wid yer eyes an' yer
lips. An' I — I got
thinkin' — maybe he's
not got warm flannens
on him — or maybe
they'd not get quite
enough to eat down there in Val
Cartyez. An' I got thinkin' — maybe
he'd be sick or cold widout a nip
o' me cordial to make him betther
an' — me boy's no coward, he's always
been a brave fine lad — but, oh,
I got to thinkin' maybe some day
he'd be frightened — just frighten-
ed like when he was a baby an' clung
so tight to me an' hid his face in me
shouldher — an' — an' I got to wishin'
I could ask him to mind his prayers,
an' tell him I was sayin' mine over
every night for him — "

The old voice trailed off into imcer-
tainty. McNaughton could not see
the face she turned to the window; but
he felt there were tears on her cheeks.

They were chance acquaintances.
McNaughton, making his way north-
ward to join his construction party at
work on a northern branch line, wan-
dering back from his sleeper in search
of entertainment had come upon the
little old lady sitting in nervous state
on the very front seat of one of the
first class coaches, her eyes keeping
strict watch of a huge market-basket
deposited at her feet. She was dressed
in neat though rusty and old-
fashioned black; her toil-stained hands,
crossed in her lap, were guiltless of
gloves, and the feet that showed
beneath her plain short skirt were
cased in the coarsest of shoes. Her

"W!LL HE BE LAUGHIN' DO YOU THINK, AT RED ENDS ON HIS GREY
SOCKS ?" SHE ADDED WISTFULLY

face was brown and wrinkled and
weather-beaten, and, save for two
things, she was such a little insigni-
ficant old woman as one might have
found on many a railway of the north
land. And the first of these was that
she had an air of courage and daring
almost martial, a sort of premonitory
victory which shone out from her old
face and found its home in the stead-
fastness of the old eyes which, looking
for the first time on so much that was
strange, yet faced the accomplishment
of her task without hesitation. The
second, and what had drawn Mc-
Naughton's attention, was that in
the very front of the old widow's bon-
net which she had worn on state
occasions now for twenty years, was
pinned a brilliant little toy flag — -the
Union Jack. McNaughton hesitated
in the aisle beside her. Then,

"May I sit here, mother ?" he asked
her gently.

She moved over to make room, a
bit wondcringly, pUicing her basket
away from his feet with grave care.

"I see you're on your way to Val-
cartier," he said with kindly banter.
"May I ask if you're a Brigadier
General or only a Colonel of Infantry?"

She looked back at him with quiet
eyes, his humour undetected.

"Indade, I'm not that sor, — only
the mother of a soldier goin' to say

him good-bye. He was always great

for flags, was Jimmy. I thought he'd

like to see his mother wearin' this one.

An' I thought he'd ought to have

something to remind him of me out

there in them foreign parts he'll be

fightin' in. But he wrote a soldier

can't be carryin' trinkets an' such —

an' I thought there's one thing he'll

be always lookin' at — in battle times

an' — an' even if he's wounded — an'

that's the ould Union Jack— God

bless it. An' I thought if I just wore

this wee one in me bonnet when he

said good-bye he'd be more heartened

like; an' maybe when he saw it again

shinin' through the smoke o' the

battle he'd send a thought back to

his ould mother by her lone in Keppel

Comers. An' I'd be comforted a bit too

mayhap.knowinglwaswearinghisflag.',

The laughter had died out of Mc-

Naugh ton's eyes.

"I'm sure there is no one who has a
better right to wear it," he said gently.
After that he busied himself for
her comfort. ■ She had "brought a
bit lunch" she told him, and eaten it
before she left Toronto. She was
"just goin' to sit there all night long."
Maybe she'd "take wee cat naps after
;abit." Did he think— anxiously — if
she put her foot on the basket "this-

"MAY 1 SIT HntB, MOTHEK ?" HE ASKED HER GENTLY

CANADA MONTHLY

like," suiting the action to the word,
anybody 'd be so mean as to "go and
shteal it" from her if she happened to
fall asleep. "For," she confessed, "I
never shlept a wink o' me eyes last
night, and I be that tired I'm afraid
o' me life I'll be tumbling ashleep!"

McNaughton assured her. But what
was in the basket ?

"Well now, I'll tell ye," she whis-
pered confidentially. "There's lots
that many a one would be glad to get.
There's two good shirts for Jimmy
an' a g(x)d pair'o' woollen mittens.
Mrs. Merton (that's the doctor's wife
at Keppel Village) showed me a pair
o' wristlets — that's what she called
'em, stingy things'; just about up to
a man's knuckles an' shtoppin' there !
She said they was what folks knit
for the boys, but I couldn't bear to
think of his poor red fingers out in the
cold, an' I just went right ahead an'
made him good ould-fashioned mit-
tens. Do you think he'll like them ?"
"I know he will," said McNaugh-
ton, "He'll love every stitch."

"An'," she added happily, "I've two
pies an' a roasted chicken an' one o'
those long muffler things for him to
wear round his stomach — though,"
she added, with a little chuckling
laugh, "I don't think Jimmy'll think
much o' that. He
was never great
to bewrappin' up
himself; he'd
never be per-
shuaded to wear
an overcoat for-
bye it was down
to zero. I don't
think he'll ever
take to wearin'
a muffler round
his stomach ! An'
I've two bottles
of good cordial
I made meself —
case he'd be cold
or sick; an' a fine
good loaf of home-
made bread an'
some butter. An'
I walked all the
way to North -
bury just to buy
me two little
cakes o' maple
sugar, for he used
to like it best of
all the sweeties
when he was a
wee lad. An'
there's three fine
warm pairs o'
socks there. I sat
up near all night
to get 'em finish-
ed; but the last
pair I'm worried
's a bit queer-

like, for I'd no more yarn to finish
'em, an' I just bethought me an' un-
ravelled the tops o' me shtockin's-
shure they were too long be far, up t >
me knees! But," she added wistfuIK .
"they were red. Will he be laughiii
do you think, at red ends on his grii\
socks ?"

"Indeed he'll not," said McNaugh-
ton. "Red is warmer than any otln r
color, and it wears better. Didn't you
see they were advising people who wck
knitting for the soldiers to put red
feet in their socks?"

The relief on the old face paid him.
"Is it so ?" she breathed, "an' I did it
for him, not knowin'. Shure the
saints were good to me that time."

"I know just the place where you
can sleep," he told her. "There's an
empty berth next mine up in the
sleeper. You could lie down there
and have a real rest, just go to bed
the same as if you were at home.
I'll see that it's fi.xed up for you."

She thanked him profusely, calling
down blessings on his head for this
kindness to "an ould body all by her
lone," but she was manifestly uneasy.
She'd be "likely not near so well off,
but betther contint like" to sit just
where Misther Cole, "who was the
master of the station down forbye,"
had put her. "An' I might loose me
basket if I fell to shleep, or they'd be
whiskin' me on beyond Sudbruy. As
for undhressin'! — saints preserve me —
I could niver do that at all at all !
No, I'd bether bide where I be, thank
ye kindly. I'm not used to thravellin'
ways," she added apologetically, "an'
I'd be more content to bide !"

McNaughton, seeing the anxiety in
the old blue eyes, acquiesed.

"Of course," he said, but there were
pillows for people who wanted them
and blankets, too. He would get
them for her at least. He came back
with a grinning negro porter and stood
by while he made the seat as com-
fortable as might be, its occupant
meanwhile sitting very erect and alert,
one surreptitious foot on the precious
basket. He left her still bolt upright,
with the determination not to sleep
one wink plainly showing in her eager
old face.

After he had gone and the few other
occupants of the car settled down to
noisy slumber, she sat patiently wait-
ing. At first she peered out anxiously
at every little station, fearful lest she
pass her destination in the dark,
though of course they had told her
she could not reach it until morning.
Hour after hour she watched the
flitting procession of phantom lake and
bluff and island, signal-lighted on
occasion by the lamps of some little
way-station which the great express
roared by scornfully, passing out
again into the night. It was like a

CANADA MONTHLY

dream, the strange motion through
the pulsing darkness — its only reality
that somewhere at its end, somewhere
in this strange dark world or in another
lighted one she was to find "Sud-
bruy" and the troop-train and her
"wee lad" going out to fight. Some-
where out in that dark his train rocked
eastward, and so many things may
happen to a train ! And to a soldier—
oh, dear God !

Toward morning she must have
slept for she did not hear the stopping
of the train. It was the movement
of the passengers which roused her,
and with a vague sense that something
was wrong she peered out through
the smoke-grimed window. Her fel-
low-passengers were already on the
platform and after a time of anxious
uncertainty she summoned courage
to follow their example, her precious
basket tightly grasped in her hand.

They were at one of the smaller
way-stations, "Kepanegan" it read.
There was nothing in sight save the
frame station house, coldly gray in
the twilight of sunrise. On both sides
stretched a forest of poplar and birch
shutting out the rest of the world
save where the narrow roadway of
the track led off into the dimness of
the woods on either side. A low light
burned in the bare waiting-room, but
nobody seemed about. Shivering
passengers walked the long platform
disconsolate. She caught broken
scraps of conversation, — "wait here
for hours," "track washed out," "a
broken dam," "German incendiarism,"
"a narrow escape," "merciful provi-
dence," "strange thing to happen on a
road like this !" "carelessness some-
where," "the heroism of a trackman,"
"nothing here to eat," "no diner of
course on the midnight special."
From a door at the end of the
' station house McNaughton emerged,
making his way toward her through
the crowd. She hurried to meet him.
"An' where is't we are now ?" she
queried anxiously.

"Kepanegan. Drink this coffee,
mother. We may be able to get
something to eat later but there is
no diner."

"Arre we on this side o' Sudbruy,
sor ?"

"Indeed we are, mother, — fifty
miles."

"An' how long will we be waitin'
I here ? an' why ?"

! "Nobody knows how long. There
i is a big wash-out up the track."

"An' it niver rained for weeks, sor !
■ It can't be ! They do be jokin' ye !"
"No, t'was a broken dam on the
I Apsinaga. But don't look like that,
I Mrs. Maloney. We'll get you across
j some way. I've telegraphed already
I to find the troop train. It is still
I four hours from Sudbury."

"An' how long
will it be takin'
us to get there ?"

"About two if
we had an open
track."

She cast him
a glance, despair-
ing. "But the
river," she haz-
arded, "there'll be
a way o' gettin'
acrost it ?"

"Yes, a man
four miles down
the river owns
a little boat. We
have sent for
him already.
They will per-
haps make a
raft."

The passengers
in little groups
of threes and
fours had begun
to Hiake their
way to the scene
of the disaster.
The old woman's
eyes followed
them wistfully.
"I think, sor,"
she said, "I'll just
be goin' up after
them, near bye to
the raft."

"But drink the
coffee first, won't
you?" McNaugh-
ton pleaded.

She lifted the cup to trembling lips,
then put it down again untasted.
"It's no use, sor," she said, "I just
can't take it, someway." Her old
eyes worr' full of unshed tears. "I'm
that worried I'll miss seein' him I just
feel I must get is near as I can. An' —
an' I think I'll go on to where the raft
will be. Shure it don't take long makin'
a raft — a few bit boards like."

McNaughton watched the bent
eager figure hurrying away, the mar-
ket basket still clutched tightly. He
was sorry he had raised her hopes with
the story of the raft. They would
be too busy with the threatened track
to spare time for anything but its
safe-guarding for hours to come. In
the station-house he waited long
enough to send a message to his chief;
then he followed the crowd toward
the scene of disaster. At the end of
the yard he overtook Mrs. Maloney.
He was beginning to regard her as his
especial charge and he slowed his
pace to hers.

"Well, General," he said, "how's
the march ?"

The land on either side lay low and
marshy, crowded with swamp-cedar
and tamarack. It dipped slightly as

SHE STOOD UP UN'CERTAINLY, TAKING A HESITATING STEP TOWARDS
THE TRACK. DID SHE DARE TO GO ?

they went on and a "fill" had been
made to preserve the level of the track.
Then the slope of the land increased,
the trees dropped away, changing to
dogwood, willow and water-reeds
through which swept a current of
muddy brown water which shoved
against the yielding ballast and sucked
and curled along the sides of the track.
The sound of axes came plainly from
the neighboring swamp. Men were
already cutting trees to serve as a
retaining wall. This had once been
the main bed of the Apsinaga. When
the road was built a huge concrete
dam a mile or more up the stream had
turned the main river into the north
channel, thus saving the expense of a
bridge here, where, on account of the
low land and the treacherous spring
freshets, it must have been at least a
mile in length. The "fill" had been
much cheaper even with the added
expense of the dam above.

McNaughton and his companion
entered and passed groups of excited
passengers discussing the situation.
A train man stopped them, saying it
was dangerous to proceed but, re-
cognizing McNaughton added, "Of
course you know the place, Mr. Mc-
Naughton, you can go on through if

you wish." McNauKlUon had been
resident enRineer on this section at its
building five years before. They
moved forward a few yards almost to
the edge of the rushing water. The
Apsinaga was one of the largest rivers
of the division. Now it was pouring
its way down the wide reedy valley
as if it rejoiced to be once more at
home. The dam had been dynamited
during the night — German incendiar-
ism, it was supposed, since troops were
expected to move over this line, though
they knew nothing definite. It had
been guarded since the moving of the
troops but only one picket had been

CAiNADA MONTHLY

«n duty as it was not supposed to be a
likely point of attack since few people
save an engineer would have under
stofxl its value. Picket and dyna-
miter had both perished in the ex-
plosion which it was reported had
torn away the banks and dug a great
hole in the river bed into which its
waters along with those of the north
branch were pouring, only to be pushed
out relentlessly by the force oehind
them and hurried down the old chan-
nel which, long before the C. P. R. had
made a great river of the north branch,
the Indians knew and followed as the
Apsinaga.

Where the main force of their i ui-
rent struck the long "fill" on whicli
the track crossed the Apsinaga vallcs
it had swept out every vestige of bal-
last. For more than a hundred feet
the track hung like some giant spifkr-
web from crumbling edge to edge, and
fifteen feet below, the tops of the piles
driven to form a foundation for the
lighter ballast of the fill showed clean
and bare. For the main part the
rails, bolted as they were to each other
and to the ties, held these latter in
their places. Occasionally one broke
away and fell with an (xid dull splash
Continued on page 140.

Card -Indexing the Babies

QUEEN IE AND SAMMY AND LIZBETH FROM LIVERPOOL AS LOOKED AFTER

BY THE HEALTH DEPARTMENT OF THE
CITY OF TORONTO

EMMELINE worked in a
glove factory and she
made $6 a week. She
was nineteen. She was
pretty. She had a father that
the lamp posts hated to hold
up, and a mother whose arms
rarely came out of the wash tub
save for the purpose of seeking
the unprotected portions of the
six littler Emmelines and John-
nies who made life in three
roorns a picture puzzle, even
when one was sober. And Em-
meline's mother wasn't, always.

Laundry work, even with a
jag in parenthesis, doesn't tend
to sweetness of character, and
Emmeline stayed out of the
atmosphere of suds and sulphur
as many evenings as she could.
A young expressman — he was
a swell dancer — used to wait
for her on the corner.

. . . . Of course. You
knew it when you heard she
was pretty.

Mother raged and cursed
above the tubs. Dad took the
swing-door road to temporary
oblivion. But the baby came
in due course, according to the
placid, crushing inevitableness
of almighty law. And Emme-
line named her Queenie.

She was a wee, claw-fingered

By Betty D. Thornley

Illustrated by Marion Long

QUEENIE WAS PUT INTO THE CLEANEST CRIB HER GUARDIAN
ANGEL HAD EVER KNOWN IN THE FAMILY

atom with huge brown eyes and
a wail. Even when I saw the
City of Toronto fighting for her
life some five months later, she
was scarcely bigger than some
of the much-desired little ones
that come into a world all pink
ribbons and white lace, with an
announcement card ready in
send to the tip-toed Clan.

"Git rid of her, you — " roared
Emmeline's father.

"Send her to the Sisters.
They'll look after her," advised
her mother, staring down at
the skeleton of unwantedness.
"She'll only be in your wa\ ."

Emmeline herself didn't want
her. Where was the six a week
to come from if she stayed with
Queenie ? And what would
happen to Queenie if she weni
to work ? That tragedy is as
old as Desire, and Drink and
Death and all the other forces
that had gone to the calling of
this brown-eyed scrap of soul-
dust from the void. Once, she
would have gone back, a hank
of waste from the Life-loom, noi
even Emmeline caring.

But here comes the difference.
Into the solemn, sordid little
conclave about her there stepped
a new actor, a great shadow\'
presence called the City of

Toronto, represented by the birth-
registration man who green-cards all
the Queenies, wanted and not wanted.
The baby in the dirty blue-and-
white checked rags had been a soul
before. Now she was a citizen.
Wherefore in due time another emissary
of the City called in the person of one
of the thirty-six Child Welfare nurses
•who guard the coasts of life against
the raking guns of disease and destruc-
tion in Toronto. Presently, Queenie
vanished from the
steamy three rooms
and became part of
the City's big, airy
household.

"I never saw
anybody with less
mother love in all
my life," the nurse
said later to the
reporter, as both
stood over the big-
eyed baby in her
white iron crib.
"Emmeline was
crushed and sullen
and defiant, just
like an animal that
has been kicked.
To her way of
thinking, Queenie
had brought all this
ui)on her, and so
she hated Queenie.
But I made up my
mind that the only
way to save Em-
meline was to
make her want to
save Queenie. And

she's doing it!" Queenie was trans-
ferred to a Creche, where, for ten
cents a day, she swung in the
cleanest crib her guardian angel had
ever known in the family. In the
morning she was called on by her friend
the City nurse, who saw to the making
up of the brand of modified milk the
doctor ordered. All day long she was
cared for by another nurse hired by
the private philanthropists in co-oper-
ation with the Health Department,
■whose line of duty-appeal was Creche
management. At night, Emmeline
came in from the glove factory, paid
her tiny dues and listened, apathetic-
ally at first, but gradually with more
and more interest, to the nurse's
helper's account of the cute ways of
the crib-occupant. Queenie was a
personage here, it seemed. Queenie
had the prettiest eyes in the Creche.
Queenie's weight-card showed a zig-
zagging upward line. Queenie, de-
spite her emaciation, was a good baby
who didn't cry, 'least, not often, as
you might say.

And she, Emmeline, was Queenie's
mother.

Haltingly, surreptitiously at first,

CANADA MONTHLY

as though ashamed to be discovered
practicing, Emmeline tried the dear-
foolish baby words that came so easily
to those other women who were not
Queenie's mother. She put her hand
on Queenie's, that hand that made the
gloves so quickly, and couldn't afford
to wear them. Queenie's tiny fingers
closed around Emmeline's.

And even if she didn't have a
wedding ring, and even if some folks
did look at her under their eyelashes,

WEARY WITH PUSHING A GO CART AS A NECESSARY ACCOMPANIMENT TO GETTING OUTDOORS,
THESE MOTHERS ENJOY A NURSE-CONDUCTED SAIL

Queenie didn't. Queenie loved her.
And she loved Queenie.

Of course to the Health Department,
the baby without a name is the ex-
ception. We chose her to lead the
line of those to whom the thirty-six
White-Caps minister, because she was
one of the tiniest and the most needy.
There are many other little Toronto-
nians however, rich in Yiddish mother-
words, Italian smiles or just-out
Cockney affection, who need the nurse
about as much as Queenie did, since
love alone can't always read the
doctor-book.

For the purpose of saving all the
babies for the City, Toronto is divided
into three self-governing districts, the
map of which you may see at the Head
Office in the City Hall, if any one of
the madly-typing, deftly-filing, or
earnestly-phoning young ladies can
take the time to show it to you.

North Toronto, the Junction, Park-
dale and the main city down to College
Street, west of Sherbourne, form the
district known as Hillcrest, whose
headquarters up in a northern police
station carries a 'phone that we wished
was self-answering when we tried to

interview Miss Supervisor later on in
the day. Here the cohorts gather,
half in the morning, half at noon, to
report, take counsel, and drink what
tea the 'phone allows.

The western part of the city, known
as Woodbine, has also its headquarters,
supervisor and nurses, as has the red-
marked plague-centre that makes up
the third District and includes the
historic Ward, and the still-worse-
crowded section to the south.

Each District
possesses two
Neigh borhood
Workers' associa-
tions which meet
in the headquart-
ers once a fort-
night. Here the
churches, the
charitable organi-
zations good, bad
and hit-or-miss, to-
gether with the
settlements, meet
with the nurses to
discuss for ex-
ample, 3 765,—
otherwise tlie Mal-
by family whose
misfortunes have
put them on file.
The first postulant
here was Martha,
now 3765 A, who
came into the card
catalogue through
the Infant Welfare
Department, what
time she decided
to enter the world.
Patricia was Exhibit B, for the same
reason. Linda, the mother, is now
C, and soon a little wailing D will be
added to the subjects denoted by the
white individual cards that crowd
in behind the big blue one that
stands for the Malby family as a unit.
If there are no complications, and
Concelto, the corporation - laborer -
father doesn't drink or run out of coal,
the Neighborhood Association will
never hear of 3765, which will be of
interest only to the Medical side. But
in case of want, the charitable organi-
zations are given a push forward
or a pull back, as the case seems to
warrant and if necessary Ugo, Francis
and Dora, the school-age Malbyites
are fresh-aired, childrens'-sheltered, or
sent to the clinic.

That word clinic has confused but
pleasant memories for me. The Health
Department of the City of Toronto,
in its fatherly interest in all who need
assistance, prescribed a taxi to the
reporter and her nurse-mentor so
that they could see the clinics — not
all of them, since there are twenty-one
for well babies, not to mention those
for the sick-in-general and those others

again where the little chalk-faced
tuberculars go — but just enough of
them so that CANADA MONTHLY
readers should understand the what
and the why, the whom-for and the
how-much-gained of this great Battle
for the Babies.

The next step planned in the brain
that moves the Health Armies is that
there shall be a nurse with an auto
whose work shall consist solely in
taking up the cases of the ncwly-
arriveds so soon as they are registered.
She will see the mother, leave literature,
instruct verbally where necessary, and
hand her a list of the times and places
of the Well-Baby Clinics. The mother
will then have the free advice of spec-
ially trained workers from the start
and if the vulnerable spot in young
Achilles isn't discovered and promptly
dealt with, it won't be the City's fault.

At present, notification of this sort
is in the hands of the overworked
regular staff nurses, but despite that
and despite the fact that some of the
clinics are held in such unintended
places as school annexes, playgrounds
and public libraries, their number
grows so fast that there's no use print-
ing a list of them. Better still, the

TERESIMA WILL CROW OVER THOSE VIDDISHERS NBXT DOOR WHOSE
SAMMY ain't DONE NEAR SO WELL

CANADA MONTHLY

attendance at each grows daily. And
young Achilles personally grows like
a weed.

The University Settlement is in the
very heart of the dirtiest, highest-
rented, one-room-pcr-family district
and here we went to see a clinic in
I^rogress. This one, though in charge
of the Settlement, has a City nurse in
attendance.

While the white-gowned doctor
listens to Angelina's voluble, two-
handed account of tiie internal dis-
turbances of young Tony, the nurse
weighs Angelina 2nd, a stirring five-
months-old clothed in a gold ring and
a smile. Big sister Teresina sits hard
by with the weight card. The smiler
has gained, it appears, and the whole
family will rejoice to-night and crow
over those Yiddishers next door whose
Sammy ain't done near so well.

Out in the hall waits young Isabella
in the arms of that other Isabella
from Liverpool who worked ten years
in an eleven-hours-a-day button fac-
tory before she got married and came
to the Colonies. Isabella Junior-ette
is entered away down at the City Hall
as having first appeared as an out-
patient at the Sick Children's Hospital.
That was a digestive
disturbance the nurse
says. Then she at-
tended the Hospital's
Well-Baby Clinic but
it was such a long
car ride that she was
transferred to the
Settlement as being
nearer home. She has
attended here for six
weeks, "reg'lar as the
day come round,
miss," her mother
tells us. Despite
that, she has just
held her own. In-
deed, her weight card
looks like a ballroom
floor compared to the
fireman's ladder effect
of Angelina's. If the
Health Department
hadn't been on its
job, there wouldn't
have been any Isa-
bella to chew those
blue bonnet strings
and do her best to
tip over the cup o'
tea that the Settle-
ment will give the
big Isabella later on.
The mother-insti-
tution for all the
clinics is of course
the Hospital for Sick
Children, whose 400
beds and out-patient
department and milk-
pasteurizing plant

have saved so many Isabellas.
Here the City does the visiting.
When a case is discharged, if it were
not followed up, like as not the con-
ditions that produced the first illness
would issue in a second. So the city
nurse walks her dainty little shoes up
the alley-way between the stable and
the Greek restaurant and when she
finds the little rear house, backed up
into the big manure pile, she also finds
the cause of her patient's downfall.
Of course it doesn't happen very often
that there is a literal manure pile.
The sanitary inspector sees to that.
Probably it's a dirty milk bottle, or
a damp floor, or perhaps it's just that
Ontario didn't abolish the bar when
she got the chance. Anyhow, the
nurse pitches in and if the family has
never appeared in the file before it
comes in now and all the Health-
Department-directed activities that
centre in the clinics and the Neighbor-
hood Associations, are turned loose on
the new find.

But this is really ahead of the story,
for the baby must be a patient investi-
gated medically, before it becomes a
Social Service case, investigated via
the street car.

On the big airy verandahs and in
the Wards of the Hospital for Sick
Children we saw the little pinch-faced
mites that were too much for the Well-
Baby Clinics — Clara who looked like
a pale little corpse, and Lily, too weak
to cry, and Ernest, recovering, with
his thumb in his mouth("Oh, naughty!"
said the nurse), and James who really
wasn't sick at all. James had been
looked after by another mother with
nine children — his own having skipped
— and when he wasn't just exactly
well, his second parent-by-chance
packed him off to the Hospital,
where the tall nurses argued around
his crib but let him stay, 'cause of
his curls.

The milk department of the Hospital
provides 500 bottles a day of specially
prepared nourishment for depots in
town. This milk is "modified" in
different ways, mainly according to
five formulae, though forty little cus-
tomers have theirs individually pre-
scribed, written on cards and pinned
about the wall so that all can see that
the Jones baby takes so many ounces
of whatyoucallit, as against Frederico
Gianelli who would look like a hat
rack in no time unless he got his dope
in inverse ratio as to ingredients.

The problem of cleaning the bottles
is an extra-special italicized proposition
since many of them go to and fro from
homes where, if a bottle were clean
it would feel positively stuck up !
Which of course, introduces a still red-
headeder problem, viz: — how to teach
the mothers of the bottle users to
Omtinued on page 136.

CANADA MONTHLY

SAVIORS OF civilization"

The Mystery of the Jade Earring

By Henry Kitchell Webster

Author of "The Butterfly," "The
Whispering Man," etc.

Illustrated by Percy Edward Anderson

SYNOPSIS

Jeffrey, a successful artist, undertakes to paint for the "queer, rich, invisible [Miss Meredith" a portrait of her dead niece taken from a
photograph. For some strange reason, the commission gets on his nerves, and he goes abroad suddenly, without ever having seen .Mi-~
Meredith, but only her confidential agent and physician. Dr. Crow.

The story opens at the point where he returns to find his friend Drew (who tells the tale) at home with Madeline and Gwendolyn,
discussing a mysterious inurder. Oddly enough, the murdered girl — a singularly beautiful woman with masses of fair hair — was found
frozen in solid ice, clad in a ball-gown which had been put on her after she was shot through the heart. Next morning Jeflfrey telephones f m
Drew, and when he hastens anxiously to the studio, says the portrait has been stolen. By a bit of amateur detective work, they find tin
man who stole the frame and he confesses, but swears that he never touched the painting. On their return to the studio, Jeffrey learns tli.it
Togo, his valet, had removed the picture from the frame, but they cannot find it. Jeffrey relates some of his uncanny experiences in iii-.
Paris studio, one of which was seeing a light in his window, and on going in quietly to surprise the intruder, hears a door shut and finds i
candle still warm but — a vacant room. Jeflfrey goes to Etaples to get rid of the cobwebs and regain his nerve. Keturning he finds in his stud in
an unfinished portrait of a beautiful girl, with the paint still wet, and giving evidence that the artist had painted her own likeness from a mirror.
Next morning the portrait had disappeared. He decided to leave Paris, and on the night before his departure was standing on a bridge when he
noticed a woman leaning against the rail. The hood about her head fell and — it was the girl of the portrait!

CHAPTER IV.— Continued.
"Don't exaggerate," I said sharply.
"I don't doubt anything that you ha\-e
reported to me. I can't explain it, I'll
agree. But there is an explanation.
We may find it out^some day, or we
may never find it out. But the thing
really happened. I'm going to sticic
to that and I want you to."

"I don't know," he said. "I haven't
told you yet. I've been afraid to tell
you. Because, when I tell you, you
won't believe any more than I do.
Listen to this : Dr. Crow comes
around and arranges for me to paint a
portrait for Miss Meredith from a pho-
tograph — a photograph of a girl who's
dead, and he takes the photograph out
of its paper wrapping and shows it to
me. And what do you suppose I see
there ? Whose face. Drew ? Guess —
guess whose face that was."

I stared at him and my own dry
throat could hardly utter the question
— the wild, fantastic question his words
suggested.

"Not — Not — " I whispered.

He nodded. "The same face. The
very same face that I had seen on the
bridge, that I'd found painted during
my absence there in my studio — the
face that had been reflected in my
old mirror while the sitter herself
painted it."

He stood up and thrust out his hands
at me with a kind of feverish energy.
"Do you believe me now? Haven't

100

you any misgivings yourself? Haven't
you got right now in the back of your
head the idea that you'll run around
and talk to Pritchard or Foster, or
some other of those big nerve and
insanity specialists ?"

That shot of his came uncannily
near the mark, but I thrust the mis-
giving out of my mind as soon as it
showed itself there.

"Not a bit of it," said I. "But you
will be a patient for one of those fel-
lows if you let yourself go like this.
Look here ! You painted the portrait
from that photograph, didn't you ?
You could see straight enough to put
it on canvas and to satisfy Miss Mere-
dith with the result."

"Oh, my eyes and hands are all
right," said Jeffrey. "If there's a kink
anywhere, it's farther inside than that."
"You say it was Miss Meredith's
niece you painted a portrait of? How
recent was the photograph?"

Jeffrey gave a laugh that was half a
shiver. "Well, that's the last ques-
tion," he said. "That brings out the
whole tale. The photograph, Drew,
was taken in Paris four years ago. It
was three years ago that the girl died.
She died in Paris of smallpox — during
the epidemic three years ago. And,
well — you can verify the other date
yourself. It was two years ago that
you and Madeline visited Paris, wasn't
it? You're quite sure of that ?"
There was a ring at the door just

then and we heard Togo, the Jap, ad-
mitting some one into the anteroom.

CHAPTER V.

THE JADE EARRING.

When Togo opened the studio
door, Jeffrey summoned him in with
a nod and with a gesture told him lu
shut the door after him.

"I can't see anybody to-day," iic
said. "There's no telling what .sort
of a fool I'll make of myself." Then
he turned to Togo. "Who is it,
Togo ?"

"He Dr. Crow," said Togo. "He
come one time before this morning.
You out. He wait. Go way. Come
back. Here now."

"I won't see him," said Jeffrey
"That's all there is about it."

"If he's already been here once,"
said I, "he's probably got something
important to say, and if Togo sends
him away he'll come back a little
later."

"Look here," said Jeffrey; "you
see him yourself. Find out what he
wants. If he asks to see the picture, |
you can tell him you don't know where |
it is. Tell him I've been having trou-
ble with the frame — anything you like,
but get rid of him for two or three
days. If you're right about it, if I'm
not crazy, if the picture's just beci;
stolen in an ordinary, human way and
from ordinary human motives, we can
probably get it back. Maybe we

CANADA MONTHLY

101

sha'n't have to let the old lady know it
ever was lost. Anyhow, tell him some
cock-and-bull story that will keep him
quiet for a while. While you're doing
that I'll go down and see my friend
Richards of police headquarters."

"I thought you hadn't much opinion
^f the police when it came to detective
work," said I.

"No more I have," was Jeffrey's an-
swer. "But an ordinary theft doesn't
call for detective work. The police
know who the thieves are; they know
the fences and what particular sort of
fence makes a specialty of a particular
sort of stolen property. And if it's a
case where they are really interested,
they go and get it and bring it back.
I've done Richards many a good turn
before now, in my old newspaper days,
and I've an idea he'll do what he can
for me."

He was struggling into his overcoat
before he had finished speaking, and at
the end he moved toward the door that
led out into the corridor. On reaching
the door he stopped impulsively and
I ame back to me.

"I don't know, old man," he said,
"Whether you're the greatest liar in
the world or not. But you're a Good
Samaritan, anyway. If you'd taken
my story the way anybody could have
been expected to take it, and if you'd
said any of the ordinary, so-called,
comforting things about nerves and
overwork and so on, I don't know what
I'd have done."

"I haven't done much yet," said I.
"But it's my afTair now as much as it
is yours. We'll see it out together."

He caught my hand in a grip that
fairly hurt. "Stay here till I come
back," he said, as he turned again to-
ward the door. "I'll ring when I come
and find out from Togo if the doctor's
gone. If he hasn't I'll wait in the
anteroom. You show him out this
way."

"All right," said I, and the next mo-
ment I heard his footsteps echoing
down the hall.

It wasn't until I'd directed Togo to
show Dr. Crow into the study that I
realized I had no excuse to give for
being there, or for asking his business
on Jeffrey's behalf. But a lawyer is
always in need of explanations for
things, and I have found an excellent
expedient, when all others fail, in tell-
ing the simple truth. It's apt to be
quite as misleading, provided you
really want to mislead anybody, as the
most ingenious fiction.

Dr. Crow entered in a quick, eager
sort of way, looked around the room
for Jeffrey, and then, seeing that I was
the only person in the room, stopped,
hesitated, and then spoke in a tone
obviously puzzled.

"I — I want to speak to Mr. Jeffrey,"
he said. "I — understood his man to

tell me he was here. Indeed, I thought
I heard his voice."

"He was here," said I. "He only
went out this moment."

"That's singular," said the doctor.
"Didn't his man say I wanted to see
him ?"

"Yes," said I. "But I'd noticed
before that he seemed rather upset,
and, on hearing that he had another
visitor, said abruptly that he could see
no one, asked me to stay and see you,
and bolted. I suppose his parting in-
junction entitles me to ask if I can be
of any service to you. I'll try to do
anything you ask me to, except explain
Mr. Jeffrey's departure. I'm afraid
that's beyond me."

While I talked I was recalling to
mind Jeffrey's description of the man
that he had given us the night before,
the rather charming young doctor who
had arranged for the portrait between
him and Miss Meredith. He fully justi-
fied 's Jeffrey's adjective. A good-
looking young chap — dark, slender,
very bright-eyed. His smile came
quickly, when he wanted it — almost too
quickly, so that it reminded me a little
of switching on the electric light.

"The advantage of being an artist,"
he said amiably, "is
that one doesn't have
to explain things like
that. Temperament
will cover anything
— in the case of as
gifted a man as Jef-
frey, anything he
could possibly take it
into his head to do."

Illogically enough,
I resented this a little
and felt an inclina-
tion to justify my
friend's action by
taking my caller much
more fully into our
confidence than I had
intended to do. What
stopped me was the
idea that perhaps this
was exactly what the
doctor had intended.

"I'm afraid I
sha'n't be much good
as asubstitu te,"
said I.

"Why," said the
doctor, "it is possible
that you'll do better
than the man himself.
You don't mind my
asking a few ques-
tions ?"

"Not a bit," said
I. "I'll answer any-
thing I can. Sit down,
won't you ?"

He didn't take the
chair I indicated, but
walked across the

room and drew up another one. I
took it that the manoeuver was exe-
cuted to give him a better chance to
look around the studio — possibly to see
whether the portrait of the girl in the
satin gown was in sight anywhere.

"I am a substitute myself,'^ he said,
when he was settled in the chair he
had selected. "Jeffrey painted a por-
trait for a — client, or patient, or rela-
tive of mine, I don't know just which
to say; she comes under all three cate-
gories — Miss Meredith."

"I didn't know you were related to
her," I observed.

He shot a quick look at me. "I see
you know about her already," said he.
"All the better. I'm not a relative in
any strict sense," he went on. "A sort
of half-nephew by marriage, perhaps.
We're all so mixed up that it is difficult
to keep such matters straight. How-
ever, it's a close enough family con-
nection to justify me in going rather
outside of the strict duties of a medical
practitioner."

"Justify ?" I questioned.

"Why, in the main," he said, "I
hold that a doctor should be a doctor
to his patients and nothing else. The
Continued on page 119.

' MV EYES AND HANDS ARE ALL RKiHT, SAID JEFFREY.
KINK, it's FARTHER INSIDE"

"IF THERE'S A

In the Forefront

COLONEL SAM STEELE. THE UNAFRAID;
MRS. ALBERT GOODERHAM, WHO WORKS
FOR "OUR BOYS"'; SIR ADAM BECK. WHO
TAMED ROSEBERY AND HARNESSED
NIAGARA FALLS; MISS AGNES SPROULE
CALLED "ST. AGNES OF THE CAMPS"

Colonel Steele

The genial D. O. C, who is not afraid

of anything — not even of

consequences

By Nan Mouiton

GIVEN an appearance like a forti-
fication, impregnable, protec-
tive, bulking four-square; given
a name like the flash of a bright
sword in the sun — Sam Steele; given
a father a captain in the Royal Navy
through the Napoleonic War; wouldn't
such a man just naturally be bom
for battles ? Colonel Steele says not;
he did not inherit military instincts,
did not cherish military ambitions, and
his being a soldier is just the result of
an accident. That accident was the
Fenian Raid.

If Colonel Steele was not bom a
soldier, did not elect to be a soldier,
then it remains a clear case of fore-
ordination. He has looked upon the
Indian when red, upon the Boer when
"slim," upon the miner rushing into
the Klondyke, gold-mad and lawless,
eight hundred boats-load of him in
full sight at once on eleven miles of
Lake Bennett, upon the Chinaman
outrageous along the Rand, and upon
the publisher, copy-hungry. Colonel
Steele is just not afraid of anything,
not even of consequences.

So he has in his possession a Com-
mander of the Bath and Member of the
Victorian Order from the South African
war, the general service medal, medal
and clasps of the Red River Expedi-
tion and North -West Rebellion,
Queen's medal and four clasps for
the first phase of the South African
war. King's medal and all the clasps
for the second phase of the South
African war. He was mentioned
several times in dispatches. He is
Honorary Lieutenant Colonel of the
British Army. He has every military
certificate — infantry, cavalry, artillery.
Besides dash and daring and fear-
lessness, Colonel Steele has the gift of
organization and administration. The

102

annals of the North West Mounted
Police of Canada testify to this gift
across the whole epic sweep of prairie
for nearly four decades. Alter the
rush of ninety-eight. Superintendent
Steele organized and commanded the
whole mounted force of the Yukon
and was a Member of the Council for
the government of the Territory.
Again, in South Africa, he organized
the South African Constabulary as
he had done his own divisions in the
West, and the green-and-gold of the
S. A. C. stood throughout those
troubled States for the same protection
and efficiency and British justice as
is set forth by the scarlet tunics of
the R. N. W. M. P. Back in Canada,
in 1907, he organized Military Dis-
trict No. 13, in Alberta, and since
1909 has been D. O. C. of M. D. No.
10, with headquarters at Fort Os-
borne, Winnipeg. Here he has in-
creased the militia from ten units in
1908 to forty units at the present time.

No knowledge of fear, an organizing
and executive genius, so far, so much.
Add now, judgment, keen, depend-
able, human, cool, quick. When a
man has to think, decide and act all
in one flash, in a primitive life where
restless Indians, whiskey-smugglers,
rough railway camps and gold-drunk
prospectors kaleidoscope, his judg-
ment must needs be swift and illumina-
ting as the cut of lightning.

There was a time along the Rand
when the Boers were disarmed and
the yellow men from the mines ran
amuck doing pleasant little things
like cutting throats. There is a story
that Colonel Steele pointed out to
Lord Milner and his Council, in one
of his characteristic brief and un-
adorned notes — a stiff, straight word
or two to a line, a few black, wide
lines to a page — that the Boer farmers
around Johannesburg were in want
and that a few shot-guns, judiciously
distributed, would help the larder of
the vrow. Lord Milner read between
the lines, (there's lots of space between
the brusque lines of the Colonel's
communications) smiled, and sent out
the shot-guns. The Chinamen on
their next visits did not cut any brown

Boer throats. It was at Colonel
Steele's suggestion that the natives
in Natal and the Eastern Transvaal
were disarmed after the Boer War.
Lord Milner approved the suggestion
and the S. A. C. accomplished the di--
arming, which left the Boer farmt r-
safe from any future native uprisings
or attack.

Then the Colonel has an irremediable
taste for the truth, which makes for
absolute reliability. It was during
the building of the Canadian Pacific
Railway, when the N. W. M. P. were
policing the construction camps in
the Rockies, that, at Golden City, a
notorious contractor, drinking and
truculent, was twice snatched from
members of the Police by the turbu-
lent mob. Inspector Steele was on a
sick-bed at the barracks. Twice his
men had posted back for instructions,
and, a third time, on a narrow bridge,
a sergeant and a couple of men were
trying to hold their prisoner against a
mad crowd brandishing knives and
guns. Suddenly, down the road from
the barracks, roused by the shots and
the shouting, pounded the Inspector
himself. Big and grim, sword in one
hand, pistol in the other, he faced the
mob at the bridge. "The first man
who steps on this bridge dies," he said.
That crowd knew Sam Steele. Sam
Steele always kept his word. The
mob sobered, melted away, the ser-
geant secured his prisoner, and the
Inspector went back to his bed.

When a man goes about with all
this for history', his reputation puts
moral force behind his very name.
Manitoba and Ontario were having a
family disturbance once down at Rat
Portage. Sir John MacDonald asked
Inspector Steele to take a detail of
men and settle the fuss. Troubles
ceased quickly and matters were amic-
ably adjusted the very minute the
two governments heard who was com-
ing.

One would not suspect Colonel
Steele of being versatile; he looks
bronze and impassive as Buddha him-
self. But these are a few of his Yukon
phases. He went up with his men in
ninety-seven to the head of White and

Chilcoot Pass. The duties of the
Police were to generally superintend
the movements of the miners — they
had charge of everything In the upper
Kootenay. At the end, Superintend-
ent Steele was thanked by the Govern-
or-General-in-Council and made a
Member of the Council, as has been
told. In between, he was Customs
Officer, Magistrate, Health Officer and
a walking Bureau of Information.
Anything anybody did not know, ask
the Police ! All this, besides cleaning
up the Yukon and making a decent
living-place out of a hell on earth.
That is how the Superintendent, in
one of his reports, describes Skagway:
murder and robbery, shell games,
illicit whiskey, shooting frays in the
very shadow of the barracks. But
from headquarters at Dawson, the
personality of a man and the standards
of a force went out again and leavened
with law a land of gold and snow.

Naturally, with all his unorthodox
frontier experience. Colonel Steele's
ideals do not march with those of the
rigid, exclusive, military caste system.
He may be a martinet as to discipline :
everything done thoroughly, every-
body on time, no loose ends, no sloppy
work, no malingering, obedience and
duty first. After that, the Colonel
believes the Commanding Officer
should be a parent to his men, that
from the newest recruit up through
the N. C. O.'s and the subs and the
regimental O. C.'s to the staff and the
D. O. C, there should be the con-
necting link of personal touch and
interest.

He believes in hard work and lots
f of it. Why not, when, back in seventy-
four, it was he of whom Colonel Jarvis
wrote that, on that dreadful march
to Edmonton, he did the manual
labor of at least two men ? He be-
lieves, of all things, in impartiality,
in the barracks being a real home for
the soldiers, and in maintaining a high
standard of honor among his men.
Colonel Steele has always been of a
conspicuous personal honor himself,
so his men have something to measure
up to. He wants each man he accepts
to be capable of becoming an instructor.
"Get them good and keep them good,"
sums up his way with his men. The
success of his methods is testified to
in one of General Buller's despatches
during the Boer War. "The Strath-
cona Horse," he said, "rode well, shot
well, fought well, and were admirably
commanded by an officer (Colonel
Steele) who maintained strict dis-
cipline without severity."

Any "Who's Who" will give you
dates and outlines and events of
Colonel Steele's career. But it would
take a book for the stories that cluster
round every year of his life since the
day he went, a boy~of sixteen, from

CANADA MONTHLY

his home in the country in Simcoe
County, Ontario, up to Toronto to
train as a soldier. (His father was
the first member for Simcoe County
and sat in the first Canadian Parlia-
ment.) He has built forts along the
north, patrolled the border, hunted
buffalo with the braves of Sitting Bull,
slept in the snow, suppressed formid-
able strikes during the construction
of the railway, escorted Commissioners
on Treaty Makings with the Sioux

103

and Blackfoot Indians, and travelled
from Gilbert Plains to Fort Walsh in
the foot-hills the first time white men
ever made that trip, taking observa-
tions of latitude and longitude. He
was on that first historic, memorable,
extraordinary march in seventy-four
into the North-West, establishing
posts. He has seen Indians gathered
ominously even unto nine thousand
lodges. He was on the pack-trail
Continued on page 115.

C0I.ONEI. STEELE WAS HAPPIEST WHEN IN SOUTH AFRICA.
WHEN WRITING HIS BOOK

UK WAS MOST MISERABLE

104

CANADA MONTHLY

MRS. ALBERT GOODERHAM

The mistress of Deancroft, who comes of a family of fighters

The Chief Knitter

Mrs. Gooderham, of the I. O. D. E.,
who works for "Our Boys"

By Nellie L. Rea

THE Daughters of the Empire is
an organization with a noble
name — a name with the sound
of trumpets in it, a stately-
ceremonial, three-feathers- and-a-train
sort of name.

In peace, it is a thing to be sought

after to be daughter of so vast, so
powerful a combine of nations. But
it isn't until the bugles that used to
herald the entrance of a Governor-
General and the guns that fired a
birthday salute, become the bugles
and the guns of hideous, world-wast-
ing. Empire-smashing WAR that the
daughters as well as the khaki-clad
sons, have the chance to the full, to
live up to their name.

Foremost among them is Mrs. Albert
E. Gooderham, President of"' the
Imperial Order Daughters of the Em-
pire, who has been a wonderful example
and inspiration to Canadian women,

who has given so generously of hi r
energy to public charities and who-c
broadness of mind and forgetfulnc ^-.
of self in the national crisis, ha\r
endeared her to everyone who ii;i>
been privileged to work with her.

That Mrs. Gooderham should come
to the height of her usefulness in
Wartime is quite according to her
descent and upbringing.

Her girlhood days were spent in
.Amhcrstburg, and Windsfir, Ontario,
her father being Captain Duncansoii,
a Highland Scotchman, who came u,
Canada when quite a boy. In tin-
town of his adoption he met and mar-
ried Miss DeLisle, of French origin,
and thus in the veins of Mrs. Gcxxler-
ham, flows the blofxl of both grv.a
branches of the Canadian [x.'oplc.

Later the family moved to WindM.r.
but it was not until Miss Duncan^un
visited Toronto that she met the k '':
lant soldier who is now Colonel 't
the Royal Grenadiers, having ben
gazetted into the regiment twcnt\
iiine years ago. the day the eldest ><>u
(now Captain Gooderham) was Ixirn.
From the beginning Mrs. Gooderham
took a keen interest in her husbarni's
regiment and is highly reverenced 1 \
the officers and men in it.

There are five children of the Go. 1-
erham family now living, the two hiw
being military men and the daught. rs
all members of the I. O. D. E. In
Windsor, Ontario, there is a chapter
of the organization bearing Mrs. Good-
erham's name. This chapter con-
sists largely of young girls whoM-
mothers are'friends of Mrs. Gooderham
and as a matter of sentiment thi\-
named this chapter in honor of her.

It was fitting that Mrs. Gooder-
ham 's public work should begin m
connection with the Red Cross Society
when the first contingent went to
South Africa at the time of the Boer
War, and she has been on the Council
ever since. At the present time al-
most every Chapter of the I. O. D. E.,
is engaged in visiting and caring for
the wives and children of the men at
the front. Some of them need help
financially while others perhaps are
strangers and in need of a woman's
sympathy and interest in their loneli-
ness. And who shall say whether the
homesick little Englishwoman or her
comforting Canadian sister will re-
ceive the greater benefit from the
intercourse.

All Canada has read of how Miss
Flummer suggested a movement to
raise money for a Hospital Ship to be
given from the women of the Domin-
ion; how these women all worked for
the sheer patriotism of the thing and
how within a week every Chapter of
the I. O. D. E., responded, even as
far north as Dawson City, west to
Continued on page 119.

CANADA MONTHLY

105

'The Lamplighter"

Sir Adam Beck, who tamed Rosebery
and harnessed Niagara Falls

By John F. Charteris

A DIPLOMATIST averts war as
long as possible. After that, a
soldier steps in and conducts it.
The two are as temperamental-
ly dissimilar as water and fire. The
diplomatist works by erosion, slowly:
the soldier, by eruption, and woe
betide Pompeii !

In politics, diplomatists are the rule,
suave Machiavellis who stroke the
country with one hand while with
the other they work the vacuum
cleaner on the country's pocket book.
When a political Cromwell heaves up
out of the mists, however, he scraps
the strokcr as well as the cleanei".
He is like Moses with the Tables of
Stone. You carry the Law in your
heart, his law, or you get it broken
over your head. You can take your
choice. If you won't obey him, he
turns to something that will — land
values or railroads or^the secrets of
nature.

Adam Beck was bom near Berlin,
Ontario, of German stock. Twenty-
five or thirty years ago he drifted into
the lumber business, bought a box
factory in Lcmdon and settled down
to find out all'there was to be ascer-
tained about*" wood. He sharpened
his own saws, did this serious-minded,
f|uiet-eyed young man whose only

SIR ADAM BECK

The political Mcwes, who«e law jrou carry in your heart, or get it brolten over your head

capital was hisjenergy and his ability
to bring that energy to a diamond-
drill objective ;._ he bought second
hand machinery ^and fixed it up after
hours; he kept his own books; he
prospered.

Then, because of his very con-
centration, he faced a threatened
breakdown.

"What you need is horseback rid-
ing," the doctor remarked one night.

The future turfman and repre-
sentative of Canada at the largest
Horse Shows of England, knew nothing
about horses, had never owned a single
-pccimen. But he sought out a livery
stable on Uundas Street and picked
up a hack that was tired conveying
folks to the station or the graveyard.
First, he hired the animal. Then,
after he had studied the subject in his
;isual methodical fnanner, he bought
him.

"That horse was the famous high

106

CANADA MONTHLY'

jumper Rosebery, never beaten except
by Mrs. Langtry's Filemaker," said a
man wIkj had watched the doctor's
prescription emerge from his hack-
hood; "he was shown all over Canada,
won prizes enough to fill a room, was
sold for a large sum, and, when he
finally met with an accident, was a
dead loss to somebody else, rather
than to his discoverer."

After that, Mr. Beck bought horses
right and left, picking each with the
care with which he did everything.
The prescription, however, entailed
something still better than fame in
jockey land, for it was due to their
mutual interest in racing that Rose-
bery's owner and the lovely Miss
Ottaway met in Hamilton and decided
that, although they still preferred to
keep two stables, they wouldn't mind
combining homes.

All this time, the Sir-Adam-to-be
hadn't emerged in Mr. Beck. Politics
didn't interest him then. It doesn't
now. The mere pleasure of persuad-
ing an electorate that they wanted
him to run favorite would never have
drawn the turf enthusiast into the
votes-arena.

But in London-the-less there was a
.problem to be solved, one January
day. Victoria Hospital hadn't been
well managed. It had been run for
the medical fraternity rather than for
the patients, it was averred. The
situation needed a strong man as
Hospital Trustee, to apply those busi-
ness methods which are so hard to
obtain in public-owned utilities.

Would Mr. Beck stand for the
office ?

He would and did . And his election-
cry, "The Hospital for the People!"
not only brought him a majority of
2,600 on polling day when men de-
pended on5|[his mere promise; it

brought him ll-.c Mayoralty
when in 1902 he consented
to accept it.

"His regime was charac-
terized by his determination
to have the Ijusiness of the
city conducted without favor
or possible suspicion of
graft," .said a man who was
associated with him through-
out his term of office.

"Why does So and So
want the chairmanship of
No. 2 Committee ?" asked
an also-wanting alderman,
"he's rich !"

Under Mr. Beck-'s manage-
ment the coveted plum
reduced itself to the size
and sweetness of a goose-
berry. Peter, who desired
to serve his country, was
doubtless satisfied, but
Judas, the collection-plater,
had crepe on his arm. .

Not only must the alder-
man keep to the strict letter
of the law that said no man
of his ilk could take a city
contract. He must even
forswear the chance of be-
devilling the Fair Board or
the Hospital Trustees or any
other body receiving money from the
city. One such incident did occur,
anent a public building to be shingled.
Whereupon Moses the Mayor calmly
selected the stone bearing the Eighth
Commandment and put a tin roof on
the alderman.

But one city was too small a field
for Mr. Beck. After providing the
town of his adoption with a Public
Health Institute and an up to date
water system, for whose financial
burden he assumed all risk imtil the
Continued on page 124.

SOMETIMES THE CAMPS ARE BIG AND CLEAN AND SOMETIMES THEV a I
LITTLE AND. WEI.L, NOT SO

St. Agnes of the
Camps

Who travels 8,000 miles a year to visit
her 100,000 boys

Bv Mabel Hil'lier

EVEN WHEN ST. AGNES DOESN T SEE A WOMAN FROM MONDAY TILL SATURDAY
SHE NEVER LACKS ANYTHING

O be unscarablc, unfreezable,
untirable; to be canny and
sonsy; to have a good memon,-
and a better forgetter>' — when
needed; to possess a heart that doesn't
know its own goldenness and a head
that denies its personal halo — \hv>:
things and a few more along the sanu-
line constitute the preliminary re-
ciuirements for the man or woman
who would step into Agnes SprouU -
shoes, what time she lea\cs them
vacant, which, says North Ontari .
may the Good Lord long forbid.

Miss Sproule has a parish of soim-
100,000 souls. That she isn't the only
incumbent goes without saying; that
for eighteen years she has been one
of the best-loved, most-respected,
hardest-worked missionaries to the
lumbermen, is a fact that no man in
the North land will dispute.

Men have come and gone — lumlxr-
iacks, cooks, foremen, Y. M. C. A.
secretaries, student preachers. The
one permanent figure in all the chang-
ing battle-line where civilization fights

the forest and religion fights rum, is
the dauntless, tireless W. C. T. U.
Scotchwoman who tells you quite
casually that last year she travelled
8,000 miles, 400 of them by sleigh, one
hundred and fifteen on foot.

Twenty-one years agci Miss Sproule
lived in Fort William and church-
worked in every spare minute. To
her practical mind, the scribe and the
pharisee might well be left alone to
attend Saint Doasyoulike's or not,
just as they chose. She wanted to
hunt up the publican and the sinner
who didn't belong anywhere for the
good and sufficient reason — ten chances
to one — that nobody'd asked them.

The foreigner, in particular, inter-
ested her. He had no church. He
had no Bible. And, scattered along
the main line of the C. P. R., he had
no chance of acquiring either. Miss
Sproule saved, sent to the Bible Society
and bought him a Scripture portion
in his own tongue.

Gradually the mission-
ary-to-be began to visit
the timid little mothers.
Smiling and crying are the
same in all languages, and
a handgrip will translate
itself as meaning sympathy
wherever you go.

The men worked in the
( amps and they too need-
id evangelization. They
needed in addition a few
of the little handinesses
that only a woman could
supply. The Comfort Bag
was the result — a won-
derful mine whence the
perplexed male could dig
scissors and needles and
pins and buttons and tape,
to say nothing of healing
niiument when he was
injured and a marked Tes-
tament with a motherly
letter inside to read when
he was homesick. The
foreigner, of course,
couldn't take advantage of
this last item but the
Canadian boy could and
did. And not only was he
benefitted, but the women
(Idwn in Lower Ontario
I (it their hearts warmed
and their patriotism stimu-
lated as they met to sew.
for by this time Miss
Sproule was the official
representative of the Pro
\incial W. C. T. U. whose

II thousand members still

i|)port her.

You can't work and
pray very long without
desire to go and see, St
Agnes tells you. Hence,
one clear zero day in

CANADA MONTHLY

February eighteen years ago, Miss
Sproule left Fort William for Silver
Mountain, thirty -seven miles to the
southwest, to follow the trail of the
Comfort Bags she had despatched.

"Camp Two of the Pigeon River
Lumber Company is off the track, oh,
about eight miles," she was informed
in the wide-swinging, none-too-accu-
rate language of the North.

Five o'clock and a setting sun found
her at the unknown little station where
she was met by a huge giant in furs,
stuffed into a sleigh and jingled off.

"How far is it ? Oh, about thirty
miles, lady," said the giant, comfort-
ably.

"I'll never forget that ride," said
Miss Sproule; "when we started, there
was a new moon between the trees.
When we got there it was pretty late
the next morning — I'd slept at an
intervening camp — but at night we
had a hundred and fourteen men out
at the little service, and that was

MISS AGNES SPROULE

The one permanent figure in the nortliern tiattle line where civilization fights
the forest and reUgioQ fights rum

107

every single soul who could under-
stand English."

The favorite hymn in the woods is
Nearer My God to Thee. When yoti
get a hundred men singing it under
the Christmas trees with the stars
atop, the guardian angel of the North
puts his harp against the pearly gate
and leans over to listen.

The next day drew in with a cold
so intense that the mercury curled up
in the bottom of the thermometer and
the men staid in camp to prevent the
steel of their tools from splitting.

Saint Agnes, however, had a sister
in Fort William who would be waiting
for her, so, at the first sign of a rise in
temperature, she started out, walked
eight miles and then caught a tote
sleigh going to Silver Mountain. It
was just runners and a board across,
this charity-chariot. It didn't seem
very secure and there were pitch holes
without number, but there was no
choice of vehicles, so the passenger
climbed on. Twenty-
seven miles from the near-
est doctor, the sleigh came
to pieces, the missionary
was dumped off and near-
ly killed, but pulled her-
self together in time to
hold service in a hospita-
ble Catholic home that
night. To be sure it was
so cold that your back
froze when you were sit-
ting in front of the fire,
but a good conscience and
a Scotch ancestry will win
against the mercury any
time.

"At last they got me
out to the train," Miss
Sproule said, smiling at
the recollection. "There
were half a dozen lum-
berjacks on board. One
of them had a picture of
his girl in a locket, I
remember, and he showed
it to me."

It was eight ' o'clock
when the train started to
start. It was noon when
it finally unfroze itself
sufficiently to get off the
siding. The conductor
ordered his Special spht,
and himself and the train
crew ran into Stanley
Junction for a leisurely
dinner before getting un-
derway about two o'clock.
Five miles west of Fort
William they stuck again
and were dug out in time
to reach town at six,
having gone thirty-seven
miles in ten hours, carry-
ing a breakfastless, din-
Continued on page 116.

Soldiering at Salisbury

PRIVATE JOHNNY CANUCK HAS GREAT FUN ON THE ATLANTIC, GREAT
WELCOME AT PLYMOUTH. GREAT FAITH IN KITCHENER,

GREAT HO^ES FOR HIS ARMY

, By Pte. H. R. Gordon

THE Canadian Contingent is
under canvas again. But Salis-
bury Plains isn't Valcartier.
In place of pine-covered hills,
we see bare rolling downs of close-
cropped turf. In place of sandy tracks
we march over hard stone roads. In-
stead of gum and pop we eke out our
rations with 'alf and 'alf and choc'lit,
and we buy it by the tuppennyworth.
We are now a part of "Kitchener's
Army," not "Sam Hughes' Militia,"
and some time before Christmas we
hope to be part of "The Allied For-
ces."

We haveTnot had a spectacular re-
ception. Most of us were smuggled
off the transports, a battalion at a
time, at night, hurried through the
streets to the railway station and
taken ? straight to the one place in
England where civilians are scarcely
ever seen, Salisbury Plains. We are
here for work. Pomp and parade will
be reserved for the time when the
War is over and those of us who are
left are on our way home.

At seven o'clock on tlie evening of
Monday, October the nineteenth.

twenty-five days after we had gone
on shipboard, buglers invaded every
deck and we heard the call for which
we had been waiting anxiously for a
fortnight: the "Fall In" for the entire
battalion to land.

Everybody cheered; on the way
to the upper deck everybody was
singing and whistling.

Ten minutes later we were on solid
ground again, drawn up beside the
drydock where a Dreadnought was
being refitted. We marched for half
a mile through the navy dockyard,
passed clanging workshops and bril-
liantly light drydocks. The workmen
were too busy even to notice us. Out-
side the sentry-guarded gates, we had
our first glimpse of civilian England, a
densely-packed crowd of women and
children with only a few men scattered
among them. As we passed, they
cheered and handed us packets of
cigarettes and apples. One or two
handsome fellows on the outside of
the column received embarrassing at-
tentions from the ladies.

At the station we were packed into
the compartments of the funny little

Copyri^t by InttrnationalN eas Service

OUR BOYS BECErVED A HEARTY OVATION FROM BKGLISH COUSINS UPON I^NDING AT PLYUOUTH
108

trains drawn by incredibly tiny engines.
Some one blew a whistle and the plat-
form suddenly seemed to glide back.

"Why, we've started !" exclaimed
one of our chaps wh(j had never been
in an English train before.

We got out on the stone platform of
a little place called Amesbury, in the
clammy dawn of an English autumn
morning. The ground around was
piled high with baggage and stores of
all sorts. Two companies of us were
told off to lead a couple of hundred
remount horses to our camp ground,
somewhere off over the misty hills
to the northwest.

We led the beasts through the sort
of village that most of us had read
about but never seen. The village
church, the winding stone-paved
street, the cyclist's rest, the village
inn made us realize that we were in
an exquisitely neat, a totally different
sort of country. Past the village, the
road led over a stone bridge near a
walled-in country house, to a bare,
rolling, bleak stretch of county — •
Salisbury Plains.

Half a mile to the north on the left
side we saw' a circle of rough slabs of
stone set up on end.

"That's Stone Henge," remarked
the Englishman in our section.

We halted just outside the very
modern barb wire fence which pro-
tects this relic of the Druids. The
remount squad took advantage of the
halt to get on their steeds and the
shades of the early Britons enjo\ed
the spectacle of Canadian infantry
men with full kit and rifles slung across
their backs, sitting astride bare-backed,
rawboned farm horses, trying to guide
them with kicks in the ribs and tugs
at frayed hemp halters. A good many
of the would-be riders went for short
aeroplane flights as their mounts jibed
and bucked.

A mile further on a woman sUxxl
at the gate of one of the few farms on
Salisbury Plains with a pitcher of cold
water and ga\e us all a drink and a
kindly word of welcome.

After eight miles of marching, we

reached our brigade camp, a ver>'

' similar camp to the one we had left at

Valcartier. Here, however, we have

wooden floors for our tents and ticks

CANADA MONTHLY

109

filled with straw to sleep on, instead
of moss covered ground. Wooden
shacks are being built for us and we
shall probably move into them as
soon as the cold weather sets in.

We made the acquaintance of the
Commander of the Canadian Contin-
gent this afternoon, Brigadier-( General
,'\lderson, a stocky, weatherbeaten
looking man with a heavy moustache
and a twinkle in the corner of his eye.
He made a favorable impression the
moment we saw him and a little speech
he gave us confirmed that opinion.

"Men," he said, "I put myself in
\<)ur hands. I am going to treat you
like men and I expect you to behave
like men. I feel perfectly safe in
doing .so."

We cheered, and there was real
feeling behind the cheers. We feel
sure that with a man of that stamp in
charge, we'll be ready to go to the
Front as soon as is humanly possible.

In the meantime we're making an
unprecedended impression on Salis-
bury Plains. When a Wiltshire
county carrier from the Wyly valley
tells a quarrelsome carter to cut out the
"rough stuff" and a Shrewton civilian
receiving much copper in exchange at
the booking office objects to "another
handful of chickenfeed," you may be
reasonably sure that something is
happening which will for all time
change the face of England and of the
world. Twenty years ago a philolo-
gist stated that the vocabulary of
Salisbury Plains consisted of about
400 words, and some of those were
low German. The camps of Regulars
• have swelled the vocabulary a good
deal, but the arrival of the Canadians
has suddenly expanded the dialect of
Shrewton and Amesbury and Winter-
i bourne Stoke into the interoceanic
I lingo which is current of the Empire
I from Calgary to Calcutta.

But to return for a glance at all the
long days that bridged the time be-
tween Valcartier and Salisbury Plains.

(3ur arrival in England was rather a
gradual process. We were in luig-
land — that is, in Plymouth Harbor —
: five days before setting foot on English
soil. The welcome the people gave
lis was none (he less hearty and none
I he less appreciated, for coming in
instalments.

It began in the Channel, five miles

tith of Plymouth Sound, while we
were crawling into harbor through (he
swarm of black, untidy little hornets
of destroyers which patrol the (Chan-
nel. A (ireat Western Railway tug
passed us and their crew responded
lustily to tiieir captain's request for
. "Three cheers for the bloomin' Canai-
dians !"

As we drew in past the breakwater
and its checkerboard-painted turret
fort, at sunset, we got another cheer

CANADIAN CONTINGENT UMDBB CANVAS AGAIN — BUT SALISBURY PLAINS ISN'T VALCARTlliK

from some seamen. And our prog-
ress up the harbor after dark to our
anchorage far inside the searchlight-
guarded entrance was a triumphal
progress. Plymouth seemed to have
turned out en ma.sse to the waterfron(,
and it was "'Ooray for the Canai-
dians !" all the way in.

We woke in the morning to see the
upper end of Plymouth Harbor. On
one side was a Dreadnought cruiser
taking on stores from Devonport dock-
yard ; on the other bank a cow grazing
in a miraculously green field with a
church spire rising out of a clump of
brown oaks in the background. We
spent most of the morning watching
that cow, the first animal we'd seen
for a month.

In the afternoon little excursion
boats, packed with sightseers, came
up the harbor, and there was much
waving of handkerchiefs from their
decks and much cheering from (jurs.
On every one of (hem half a dozen
small boys would cry shrilly; "Ah we
daown'ahted ?" And we would thun-
der back, "NO !"

Newspapers came aboard that after-
noon and we were all so glad to get
something to read that we even de-
voure<l a column editorial of the Times,
which referred to the coming <jf the
Canadians as the "arrival of dwellers
in the wilderness, men used to the
hard life of the settler and masters of
all the arts with which he carries on
his daily struggle against nature."

Had we been the actual savages of
the paragrapher's vision, however, we
couldn't have been gladder than we
were to get to England.

The trip from Quebec to Plymouth
was a mixture of a holiday, a conval-

escence, and a term in prison, all in
one. We had a three weeks' respite
from the long hours and the hard work
of a camp. We had good food, and
comfortable bunks. The only trouble
was (hat we didn't have enough to do.

To half the contingent, probably, an
ocean voyage was an entirely new
experience. But in a day or two all
the mysteries of the ship's equipment
had been investigated. The "Scouts"
made haste to mark down in their
mental maps the various bases of
supply, three kitchens, a bakery, and
a barber's shop were chocolate was
sold. For three days we enjoyed the
luxury of comfortable beds, hot water
to wash in, and meals that did not
always consist of skilly or roast beef.
During this time the ships of the con-
voy were loafing down the St. Law-
rence. We were a day at Rimouski,
and two days at Father Point and we
filled in the time wondering when we'd
reach our destination. One rumor
had us bound for South Africa, another
for Egypt, another for India. Some
fellows believed the Egyptian rumor
to such an extent that they tried (o
dispose of their heavy wool sweaters.

At Gaspe Bay we first realized what
a big undertaking it was to transport
the whole contingent, 33,000 of us,
across the water. We had come early
on Thursday and we had watched the
transports arriving every hour or two,
Thursday and Friday. Saturday
morning the fleet was complete.

A brisk easterly l^reeze made the
water of the bay dance and glitter in
brilliant sunlight:. On the north side
against a back-ground of pine-covered
mountain, and brown stubble-field,
Continued on page 137.

110

CANADA MONTHLY

KJOTHING could be easier than to
•'• ^ croak out an article on Christmas
like a gloomy raven, but of all the
dear, the merry Christmases that have
ever gladdened the old world this is
not the time to do that. It is, above
all other Christmases, the one in which
to think of others, to help others, to
sing the uplifting songs of Noel, to
pray for peace and good will. We
have to think of the children, especially
the children of the men who are for
Canada — her homes, her women and
her little ones. A letter from a chap
in the trenches voices poignantly a
hope 'that the kiddies we leave behind
won't be without a visit from Santa
Claus. "We'll not be 'ome before
Christmas," he says. "Perhaps we'll
never be 'ome again, but for Gawd's
sake don't let the, kiddies miss us at
Christmas. I've seven of *em — "

Among all our various funds might
it not be a good thing to set one — a
Santa Claus Fund— aside exclusively for
the "Kiddies of the men at the front .■"'

THERE WAS THE MAN WHO GOT
USED TO HANGING

(^NE of the saddest things about the
^^ war is that we get used to its
horrbrs,^so that they do not affect us
as they^did in the first dreadful days.
The reason is, I suppose, that by a
merciful provision of human nature
we are unable to keep at high pressure
all the time. It it were not so we
should go mad. Each one of us has
what may be called a "mean tempera-
ture," that is, a general level of equani-
mity. If there were an instrument
that would measure personal tempera-
ment and indicate it on a dial, we
should discover that while we have
some high times and some low ones,
our variations above or below normal
are not for the most part very exten-
sive. A piece of horrifying news
depresses us at first to a frightful

depth, but the tendency is towards
recovery of ourselves. In like manner
there are things that will send us up
into the seventh heaven. We tread
on air; for the moment we are lifted
above all mundane considerations.
But the healthy tendency is, again,
towards our permanent normal. We
need not blame ourselves, or think
that our sympathies are less keen, or
that we are growing callous, if we can
read that ten thousand men have been
killed, and almost immediately turn to
the qutestion as to whether we shall
have liver and bacon, or steak and
onions for dinner. As I said before,
if we had not this power of recovery
we should go mad. The agonizing
sweat of the surgeon over his first
critical operation is not usually re-
peated. And they do say that when
a woman has been a widow three times
she buries her fourth with far fewer
tears than accompanied her first to
the tomb.

HOW WE VARY
T TNDER these circumstances it is
^ interesting to enquire whether
what I have called the normal every-
day reading of the personal barometer
varies with different persons. The
answer is that it varies very much.
Some people's normal is much higher
than that of others, while, of course,
the converse holds good, and with
some it is a thing of continuous low
averages. There are those who, partly
from natural gift and partly from the
discipline and nurture of their original
personalities by various influences,
whether of society, literature and in
some cases religion, have developed a
capacity for living at a high level,
and that seem to have in then/ a
vitality that is not of this world. It
is the presence of such persons here
and there — alas ! they are too few —
that makes us reluctant to accept the

teachings of those philosophers win
would tell us that the thing we ha\i
been accustomed to call the soul i~
merely a pnxluction of protoplasm.
For my part I have never been able
to believe that mind and s<jul were
merely the result of the action of the
digestive organs — so much beef and
vegetables and beer going to produce-
flesh and Ixjnes and so much to !"•
resolved by the processes of naturi
into intellect and spirit.

BLYTHE AND BRITAIN

"j^ITCHENER must provide more
army. Kitchener must supplv
an army that will hold England
place in battle, and be of sufficiem
consequence to give England her part
of the spoils when the time comes for
the peace settlement — that is, FIngland
must put up her full quota — she mu>i
have her share of chijjs in the game
if she would partake of the pot."

This long sentence is from the pen
of Mr. Samuel G. Blythe who wrin-
the "Who's Who and Why" in thai
amazingly successful publication the
"Saturday Evening Post," which has
such a circulation in Canada because
apparently we cannot turn out a
weekly that will come up to it in general
interest or approach it in price. In
the issue of September 26, this rather
brilliant writer attempted a "Who's
Who and Why" of the great soldier
on whom in these days all eyes are
turned, and he would not be Mr.
Blythe if he did not produce some-
thing very readable and "snappy."
His article has the merits and the
defects of the slapdash style, but in ■
the sentence quoted he surely shows
himself quite imable lo take tin-
British point of view.

Mr. Blythe writes for American
business people and he naturally falls
into the error of supposing that we
also are thinking of the war in a
strictly and purely l)usiness wa\ .
Our men who are leaving their kindred
and going to the front are going be-
cause forsooth "England must have
her share of chips in the game?" In
the midst of our sacrifices and < :ii
heartbreak we have a keen eye ! ;
t)usiness, have we ? Now some of ;i~
had been thinking that one of ilie
compensations of this war is that it
has raised us above the petty c : -
siderations of personal profit int' a
nobler atmosphere, in which the chii
things to be striven for are trai', .
justice and liberty. As a whole, the
American press has not failed to grasp
this aspect of the case. It lia~
recognized that the wonderful and
epochal response of the whole Empire
at this heart-searching time has been
because of a passionate appreciatii n
of ideal considerations that haw-
nothing to do with "chips in the game'

CANADA MONTHLY

111

THAT TORONTO GLOBE
" ''TIS a fine time the Toronto Globe-
'^ man does be having j^raising the
Sassenaclis and the Highlanders and
iavin' til' Irish out of it," said the
Man at the Crossroads as he sat with
the Pedhir eating a modest bite by
the side of a Httle road out of sight of
the soldiers. "What wid thryin to
prove the English and Scots are the
'Best o' the Breed,' and boasting
about what they did in all the wars
that ever were, he lost sight of the
fact that the biggest part of the Brit-
ish army is made up of Irishmen.
Shure the Scots are fine, and the High-
landers move me to tears when I sec
how careless they are before the wim-
men whether they're straight or knock-
kneed, and the pipes set all the blood
in me galloping especially when I
remember that the Highland pipes is
me ould friend the war pipes of Ire-
land that marched before Jirian Bor-
hoimbe a hundred strong into Clon-
tj.rf that day he licked the boots off
tile Danes."

"I heard they were a thousand
trong," said the Pedlar.

"Pedlar, me boy," said the Cross-
reads Man, "'tis my belief you've been
drinking something a thrifle sthronger
tlan tay to be talking foolish talk like
tiial. What army, what army, I ask
yc. could spare a thousand men to be
squcczin' a march out of the pipes !
^"ou're worse for boastin' than that
Toronto Globe-man with his 'Best o'
the Breed.' It makes me lafT," con-
tinued the Man at the Crossroads
(and the shells and shrapnel screech-
ing all round us), "to see the way th'
English and Canadian papers are
anxious to claim Kitchener as an
Englishman bekase his people were
English, and in the same breath claim
Adam Beck — the Lamplighter — as a
Canadian bekase his people were Ger-
man. French, too, they call an Eng-
lishman bekase his people were all
Irish since ever Adam founded the
race. Little Bobs they lave us, an'
Charley Beresford bekase they couldn't
disroot them from Ireland if they
tried. They can have Kitchener —
great as he is — for I never liked the
steel eye of him, but — "

"Faith," said the Pedlar, rising and
shaking the crumbs from his Pack,
"I never heard an ould fool talking
like ye, and I've met many an omad-
haun in my time."

Silently the two sour old friends
proceeded on their way.

AWAY FROM WAR FOR A MOMENT

IT was one of those lovely days we
get in October and November, and
often indeed in late December, a day
in Canada's loveliest season when

"Although the sun shines bright and fair,
The autumn tang is in the air;

**\Vliat we have we'll liold
AVhai wehavent >\rell

("(fur Wetr- Slogan /or Canada ) ___ n^gj^

We have jusi made

^ tiieNew'

;

Gilleiie

BULL.DOG

Safeiy I^axot*

THP: stocky "Bulldog"i;handle gives a good, firm grip
that most men like. Its extra^weight seems to "carry
through" the keen edge blade in a stroke that's
particularly smooth and easy.

With its natty case of gray antique leather, the Gillette
"Bulldog" makes a particularly attractive Christmas gift,
and one that will be appreciated every day in the year.

Or perhaps he'd prefer the Gillette "Aristocrat" in its
white French Ivory, or a Pocket Edition or Combination
Set. Look them all over at your dealer's — there is a splen-
did selection. Price from $5.00 up.

Gillette Safety Razor Co.
of Canada, Limited,
Montreal.

mai 5. PerSet^

And age remembers with a sigh

That winter's nipping cold is nigh."

As I walked along tlie street, almost
regretting in the bright sunshine that
in consequence of the cold of the past
few nights one had put on some warm
things, the approach of winter was
flashed upon me in a rather prosaic
fashion. Yes, positively flashed. For
thJi bright sunshine that had in it a
whole battery of late summer rays,
shone on a wagon-load of stove pipe
elbows that was going to some hard-
ware empxjrium. And thereafter as I

Made in. Canada.

walked I seemed to be constantly
reminded of the cold that is steadily
walking towards us from the icy north.
The furniture brokers had trotted out
the second-hand stoves that had lain
in shadowy retirement all the summer.
The hardware stores were full of new
ones. The drygoods men were set-
ting out their windows with warm
clothing, and tempting overcoats were
displayed in the men's emporiums.
(N.B.) I dote on that good word
emporium — I like to see it exhibited
on the facade of a general store in the

112

CANADA MONTHLY ADVERTISER

No gift is finer than a fine watch
to express a high regard

NA/ althani
''Colonial
1 hm \V^atcnes

The spirit of giving is symbolized in these
watches. Their message of good-will is direct
and sure.

The man who is fortunate enough to receive
one of these "Colonials" for Christmas will be
^ 5|| impressed immediately by its thinness and its
grace. And his "first impressions" will be justi-
fied by the splendid service which the watch will
give him.

Refinement and strength are united in these
watches. They are both safe and thin — qualities not too
often found in combination in a watch. In their thinness
combined with accurate time-keeping, they respond exactly
to the latest demand in gentlemen's watches.

Waltham "Colonials" are high in their quality but never high in the price
which you pay for that quality. An excellent "Colonial'' may be had for
$29 and the prices range up to ^155 according to the kind of movement
and case which you select. Your jeweler will be glad to show you the
different styles.

Write us for booklet and general information.

Waltham Watch Company

Canada Life Bldg., St. James Street, Montreal

ve
As

CANADA MONTHLY

113

country. Emporiums is not the true
plural of the word ? I beg your par-
don. When we take a word into use
we make it fit our ways. Say "em-
poria," if you like.

OLD TIMES
TIJUT those stove-pipe elbows !
■^ What pictures they bring up.
They are not intended for your fur-
nace-heated houses with the latest
improvements: hot water boilers, radi-
ators, expansion-tanks and all the
rest of it. They are for the houses
where, at best, the heating is done by a
"self-feeder," and you run the stove-
pipes through as many rooms as you
can before they reach the chimney.
Those stove-pipe elbows will be used
by the master of the house himself
when he gets home from work and his
"missus" reminds him that the stove
had better be fixed up. Perhaps she
says that the roomers will be com-
plaining, if they keep roomers, as very
likely they do, to eke out the slender
income. Advertisements relating to
"warm rooms" will soon begin to
appear in the papers. I remember one
in a Toronto paper. "Wanted a com-
fortable bedroom by a young man
with a stove-pipe opening." The
compositors ought to have put in that
missing comma — let alone the proof
reader.

PRAYER OR PROFANITY
T F tlie householder be a pious man he
should kneel down and say his
prayers before he begins to put up
stove-pipes. It does not matter how
careful people may be, there is sure to
be some of last year's soot in the old
pipes. And they have been lying in
the cellar or somewhere all through
the summer days. Some of them have
got bashed in at the ends, and even if
you have new elbows you are never
certain. There is more temptation
to profanity and impatience in putting
up stove-pipes than in any other part
of the household economy. These are
likely to develop when the operator
asks his wife to hold one piece of pipe
for him while he fits another on to it.
"I wish you would hold it steady —
can't you rest it on something ? Care-
ful now — I've nearly got it on — oh
my goodness me, why don't you hold
it steady — here it's all off again, con-
found it." Or, "why, this isn't the
piece at all — I thought you said you'd
got 'em all in order." "Well," says
the wife, "you told me you'd marked
'em all. If you did, all I can say is
the marks must have worn off. The
children must have been playing with
them." "Well, why do you let the
children play with 'em ? Oh, dash
these pipes, I shall never get the
blessed thing up this night," etc., etc.

But when at last the "blessed thing"

The Cost of
High Living

is not in dollars and cents
alone, but in the breaking down of those
functions of the human body that bring
health and happiness and in the depletion
of those vital forces that contribute to long
life. Health and high efficiency come from
eating a simple, natural food like

Shredded Wheat

combined with regular habits and proper
outdoor exercise. In this food you have
all the body-building elements of the whole
wheat grain made digestible by steam-cook-
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need not affect the cost of living in the
home where Shredded Wheat is known.
Always the same in price and quality.

does go up, what joy, what pleasure !
"I'll just see how it burns," says the
delighted operator. Paper and chips
are brought, a match is struck and
they are lighted. How they flame !
How they roar ! "Are there some o'
those bits of hardwood left in the
shed ?" asks the man. There are
just a few, it appears. They are
brought in. The children have gone
to bed. The first fire of the fall
begins to diffuse its benign warmth.

Two Shredded Wheat Biscuits with hot milk
and a little cream furnish natural warmth
for a cold day and supply all the nutriment
needed for work or play. Delicious for any
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bananas, canned peaches, pears or any fruit.

'It's All in the Shreds"

4« 'Made only by

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Niagarr Falls, Ont.
Toronto Office : 49 Wellington Staeet, East

IN THE MATTER OF CHRISTMAS
y\yE will return to the trenches, the
boys who are fighting to keep
their women decent and the children
fed — in a moment. But a momentary
look at modern Christmas may not he
irrelevant. The great Feast has of
late years become extraordinarily com-
mercial in spirit, and in the matter of
present giving. Advertising has made
of good old fairy-man Santa Glaus, a
commercial traveller. Very grand,

114

CANADA MONTHLY

Hmns

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LUX dissolves readily in
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LUX — pure essence of soap
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Do YOU Need Money?

To educate your children, support a
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Canada Monthly, Toronto, Ont.

but shallow writing has encompassed
the darling of the children — the Giver
of the F"cast. Staid, prosaic, and, I
am not afraid to say, women with
narrow views, have decried, from
time to time, "filling the children's
minds with nonsense." Now, unless
imagination and the beautiful poetry
of life is introduced early into the life
of the child, the little human creature
cannot help growing into a staid, self-
centred, prosaic person. Have we
not enough— for God's sake ! — of that
kind of dingy bringing-up in Canada
to authorize a protest against it. Life
here need not all be made up of making
one penny sit on the other. We are
backward in most of the nice things
that make this world a foretaste of
Heaven. We women are keen on
putting down (or up) fruit, or putting
down (or up) pickles, yet when I asked
a man of supposed intellectuality
what he thought of this war — this
world -war, mind you, and when one
mentioned it as preparatory to Arma-
geddon, he replied: "I don't know
just what you mean by Armageddon,
but I've no interest in European
events. Fact, is I never read the
war stuff !"

Good night, dear Lady !

A KIND, A HOLY CHRISTMAS

DUT it is Christmas time._ What
will the grand old Feast bring to a
troubled world ? Not to-day must
we linger on the atrocities of the Bar-
barians, but rather on the misery and
necessity of the survivors. I should
not call this Christmas a time for the
rich to give presents to the rich. I do
not believe there is a woman in Can-
ada who would not forego her annual
gift in order to give its value where
it will be most wanted. We would
not care to clothe ourselves in beauti-
ful furs, or wear glittering jewels,
while the families of our soldiers needed
for Christmas comforts. This should
be a great year of giving. Perhaps
our Lord sent our tribulation in order
to show us how selfish of late years
we have grown.

To be sure, every year there have
been large Christmas funds and
charities, but may I tell you what one
"charitable" lady asked a soldier's
wife whose name she had put on her
'Christmas list: "Are all your chil-
dren legitimate ? Have you been a
prudent person before as well as after
marriage ?" And the ; wonder to a
Pedlar who has tramped the high-
roads and byways of the world is —
that the soldier's wife did not knock
the lady down.

There is a "charity" that is degrad-
ing. It is the Devil's "charity" — not
the dear, hidden, shy charity of the
gentle Christ. Dear God ! When you
think of it, of the cruelty of these

from All Causea, Head Noises and Other Ear

Troubles Easily and Percianenlly RelievecH

Thoucand* who wpre formerly
deaf, now hrar distinctly ev«t|P
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sanctimonious women to the little
children — the small wayside, sweet
flowers along life's roadway, you want
to be in yourself one gigantic Santa
Claus who has not reindeer enough to
pull his wagons and wagons of gifts,
or love-words enough to comfort the
little hearts whose grown up heritage
is grief and sorrow.

A Merry Christmas, lovers all —
from a Pedlar who waxeth hot — and a
kind Christmas — and a prayer for
God's peace to descend on us all — on
all the poor troubled world.

CANADA MONTHLY

115

Colonel Steele

Continued from page 103.
journey two hundred miles into the
mountains in the early eighties, restor-
ing order among the Indians, on which
occasion he was thanked by the
Premier in General Orders. The pre-
sent Fort Steele is reminiscent of the
days at the mouth of White Horse
Creek.

He was in the Rebellion of eighty-
five, at Frenchman's Butte and Loon
Lake, where he and his Scouts broke
up Big Bear's band, he and sixty of
his men pursuing five hundred Indians
into the great northern forest. He
has known every phase of prairie work
and every vicissitude of prairie life.
He has been everything in the Force
from Troop Sergeant Major and rid-
ing instructor at Lower Fort Garry
to Adjutant, District Officer, Inspector
and Superintendent. At the Military
Institute one evening, some question
of privilege came up. "I'll go ask
'The Great North West'," said one of
his officers affectionately. No other
one man has so touched and moulded
every aspect of the history and life of
the Canadian West — swarthy, hard
as nails, quiet, strong, the straight
outlines of the simple, vital things of
a new country grown his own — ^Samuel
Benfield Steele is the West incarnate
"The Great North West," of a truth I

In South Africa he commanded the
Strathconas, whom he had raised in
Canada at the wish of the late High
Commissioner, commanded them in
every portion of the theatre of war,
Natal, Transvaal, Zululand, Orange
River Colony, Cape Colony, with what
conspicuous brilliancy has already
been noted. He was then loaned by
the Canadian Premier to South Africa
for five years, during which time he
commanded "B" Division of the S.
A. C. (after having raised it) directly
under Lord Kitchener for six months
during the latter part of the Boer War.
Then he organized the S. A. C. further
for times of peace, being associated
in this with Kaden-Powell, and he
settled up Uganda, and made the
African veldt generally as safe as the
prairie at home. Followed nine
months in England with the Inspector
General of Cavalry and back to Can-
ada in 1907.

Colonel Steele was happiest in South
Africa. He was most miserable when
writing his book. "Forty Years in
Canada," his publishers are calling it,
but it will cover all his other experi-
ences as well. The publication is now
regrettably postponed until after the
war. "It was desperate work," the
Colonel confided to a friend, mopping
his brow at the memory. The pen
was evidently heavier than the sword.
His greatest object of distaste is "the

Is "little-bit" helping
to save?

you

N h

losses as well as savings, 'Every-
little-bit" counts ! Little bits /ost
at home discourage men who earn.

Little bits saved help to furnish a home;
make a man cheerful and confident; make
a wife feel she counts.

Save through your cleaner ! It costs
little but you use such lots! And, if each
time you use it, you shake on more than
you want, or spill some down the hungry
old sink, mightn't you just as well fling
money down it too ?

Get a cleaner that won't waste or shake — a cleaner
which doesn't spill and can't put an atom where it
doesn't change into shine. Get Sapolio — solid, suds-y,
wasteless, easy-working Sapolio! That won't choke
the waste pipe with particles or get into careless,
wasteful ways. .

Watch how Sapolio lasts. See how slowly
it wears compared with the kind of cleaners
whose application you cannot regulate. See
what whole tablefuls of kitchen things it will
put the twinkle into — knives and forks, kettles
and spoons, aluminum and enamel-ware and
lots of things beside.

And see! Your cake of Sapolio doesn't
seem to have decreased in size for all the work
it has done at cleaning and shining and bright-
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Yes, you'll make home happy home — as
millions of women have done — with the econo-
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■vVv

advertising soldier," of whom he has a
holy horror.

When he is grim, the Colonel is
very grim indeed. But when he isn't
grim, he is exceedingly pleasant, as
when his sense of humor stirs and a
very black, very military moustache
curls up from white teeth and his stiff,
stern, bronze, impassive face breaks
up into slow crinkles of amusement
until his eyes are nearly closed. When
he is gruff, he is very gruff indeed, but
when his intimates gather at his

hearth-fire for a pipe and a yam, they
often find themselves at some early
morning hour deep in reminiscence
and comment, as a Scotch officer tells
it, "speakin' away."

He has walked with crowds— Pente-
costal crowds, too — ^and not lost his
virtues of dignity and command. He
has talked with kings and generals,
been feted in a kingdom's banqueting-
halls and high homes and prominent
on three continents, and he has kept
the common touch of all humanity.

116

NO TROUBLE
TO MAKE

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Synip with

MAPLEINE

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It saves half the
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2 OZ. BOHLE
50 CENTS

Get it from your grocer, or
write

CRESCENT MFG. CO.

Depl. G, SEATTLE, WASH.

Send 2c. stamp /or Recipe Book.

Children
Teething

]Iotk«n •heuld give only Oio weU-knawn

Doctor Stedman's
teething powders

TRADE A-

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See the Trade Mark, a Gum Lancet, on
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CANApi\ MONTHLY

He is a big, simple-hearted man,
accessible, kind. "He talked to Jack
and me for two hours," a breathless
boy said, flushed with pride, "just as
if we were Somebody instead of two
boys." That boy is now a Captain
in one of his regiments. Another
night at a social function he told a
young girl proud tales of her uncle he
had known long ago in the West.
"I'm mighty glad to have met you,"
he said to her as he went away. That
slip of a girl was very humble and very
shining at that "mighty glad."

Colonel Steele is quite keen on the
universal military training of boys at
school. He is at the bottom of the
School Cadet movement. His ideal
is a combination of the military train-
ing of the School Cadets and the moral
training of the Boy Scouts. He is an
enthusiastic advocate of sports, not
professional sport with rooters on the
benches, but every man his own
cricketer and foot-baller.

In the last six years Colonel Steele
has grown to be a familiar figure in
Winnipeg. We have seen him at
parades in the blazing ceremonial of
full dress, at quiet" lectures introducing
ing a war-correspondent, presenting a
regimental cup, speaking good words
of his men at a Paardeburg anniver-
sary, reminiscent at the Canadian
Club over the expedition under
Wolseley. And just lately we have
seen him at the hosting of his forty
units for war, speaking simple, sol-
dierly words to the regiments as they
trooped away to Valcartier, expect-
ing them to be orderly, sober, well-
behaved, obedient to orders, whether
in action or defeat always bearing
themselves as true British soldiers.
And the soldiers, the accent of their
Head upon them, cheered and cheered
as they marched out — the big D. O. C.
is greatly beloved by his men. And
the citizens, stirred and proud, cheered
and cheered to the echo, for Colonel
Steele is equally beloved by the rest
of us who walk in mufti. And the
big man, for whom flags have been
flung and bells pealed, stood in the
swaying mass and looked upon the
eager faces, the plain, simple, up-
standing epitome of his words to his
men, bearing himself as a true British
soldier. And it somehow seemed then
as though life must be simpler for the
soldier than for other men. Perhaps
it is that the soldier-life claims the
straight, simple, soldier-type.

St. Agnes

Continued from page 107.
nerless, supperless but still enthusi-
astic, missionary.

Since then the legend of St. Agnes
has grown in the Northland.

"I never go into a camp now but

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there's someone who comes up and
asks me if I remember the winter ofi
such-and-such a year, and sometimes]
I know scores of the fellows by sight,";
she said. "The boys are kinder to m(
than you can imagine and often tak(
up collections to be forwarded to thel
W. C. T. U. societies that send me.'
I never ask for such a thing — it'sj
purely a thank-offering to the other-
boys' mothers.

"Sometimes the camps are big am
clean and sometimes they're littl
and — well, not so — but the men ai
always kindhearted and even when_
don't see a woman from Monday til!
Saturday I never lack anything."

To be sure the accommodation isn'
always up to metropolitan standard*
The missionary has often slept on tb
office-floor — or on one-third of thi
floor with a curtain round it. Sh
has had her nose frozen during th
night. She has felt an enquiring rat
walk over her face. But never, never
has she had any inconvenience that
the camp could prevent.

Sometimes indeed the kindnesses
are almost overwhelming.

Once there was a Scotch foreman
who marshalled seventy men in t€
listen to the missionary, willy nilly.
Calvinistically considered, some
them might be foreordained to
damned and were therefore useless
billets for a text. But the forem;
couldn't sort the sheep from the goat
hence the whole flock was sent t
church. The preacher was far t
much of a good fellow to believe
religion by conscription,, but

CANADA MONTHLY

117

couldn't un-Scotch a Scotchman.

"I didn't just feel in trim to be
inspiring," she said afterward, "but
you can imagine my dismay when I
found that the place was infested with
rats who also seemed sent to church !
It would never have done to let the
boys see I was afraid so I just stood
there and talked. Later on, a little
cat came in and caught three rats one
after the other, driving them to cover
around my feet. She presented each
of them to me for inspection and then
ate them up. But the foreman never
smiled !"

It was last winter that Miss Sproule
and a Comfort Bag played Cupid in
the Northland. This particular sly
Bag hadn't a motherly letter in it, but
a big-sisterly one.

It was the camp clerk who read it,
one cold and lonesome day. He also
answered.

"And now — but maybe I shouldn't
tell you," said St. Agnes laughing,
"they're to be married this fall!

"There was a little wife I met last
winter. She lived in the sweetest,
cleanest, most comfortable home, that
she's made herself — just like a little
nest. She and her husband had
watched the camp all alone for the
whole summer. In the fall she was to
go into Blind River and you can
imagine how she looked forward to the
streets and the shops.

"They were just four days out.
Then they crawled back again with
their money all gone. Yes, whiskey.
Do you wonder we fight it ? Do you
■wonder, too, that the poor little lone-
some woman who fears the woods,
hates the town even more ?"

I'"or it's whiskey that is the curse
of the Northland, just as it is a curse
to the elemental non-reasoning man
everywhere. Months of hard work,
simple fare and no excitement lay the
requisite foundation for a letting go
in town that empties the flask and
the pocket book at the same time and
sends the lumberjack back to camp
with ncjthing but a bad taste in his
conscience. It was a British Columbia
construction man who this summer
told a friend that three times he had
saved enough to take him home to
visit his little sister in England, and
three times his trip had ended west
of Winnipeg, and three times he could
write the cause as whiskey.

The only way to drive out a big
army is to let loose a bigger one, or in
any case a closer-shooting, harder-
marching, longer-enduring force. So
far, Ontario White Ribboners haven't
succeeded in lining up in this way
against Ontario whiskey dealers. But
in the individual case, as Miss Sproule
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she would say — that has enabled him
to take his paycheck to the money
order stand at the Post Office instead
of cashing it at the bar. And to save
one man — and that nearly always
means one woman too — is worth more
than millions of feet of timber floated
to the Lake. It's worth standing long
cold days and bitter twinkling nights
to achieve, it's worth putting up with
hunger and thirst and deadtiredness,
and hair white like St. Agnes' before
its time.

And now, last of all, when the camp

work is slack and the big kind-hearted
boys have poured from the woxls
through Valcartier and away into
Europe, the mothers of men who sent
St. Agnes northward are despatching
another helper to the east. He is a
Y. M. C. A. secretary who served in
the big Quebec camp, now deserted,
and the women are pledged to support
him as long as the War lasts, so that,
becoming the fourth missionary of
the society, he can carry the memory
of St. Agnes and the Testament clear
up to the German guns.

118

CANADA MONTHLY

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CANADA MONTHLY. Toronto, Ont.

PATRIOTISM

VX/'HEN Mrs. Housekeeper, who
doesn't even hire a maid, gets
her much-crinkled five dollar bill out
of the left hand comer of the top
bureau drawer and goes down town
to the notion counter, it never occurs
to her that she's an employer of labor.
Consequently when a misguided but
perfectly sincere patriot assures her
that it's Wartime, and that she ought
not to buy even a new backcomb if
she doesn't honest-to-Eatons need it,
she hasn't the faintest notion that her
rebanking of the bill in the bureau is
crippling trade.

There is no use in denying that
Canada has suffered great loss in her
biggest import — foreign capital. Leav-
ing to the financial experts the ques-
tion of whether the Dominion ever
should have depended to the extent
she did on the English sovereigns that
were so willing to harness themselves
for earning Canadian dimes, we can
state without fear of contradiction
that none of this ought to affect the
backcomb industry, nor the cheese
trade nor the boot and shoe business —
that is, not so far as inter-Canada buy-
ing is concerned. There are still in
the neighborhood of eighteen million
feet walking around between Halifa.x
and Vancouver, and they all need
shoes.

What can and will cripple trade, is
to have Mrs. Housekeeper turn back
from the street car and wad her little
five back home where it came from. If
she won't buy the backcomb or the
new pumps, the store will decrease its
selling force, the wholesale house will
call in its travellers, the factory will
throw off its hands. And Mrs. House-
keeper will find a tramp at the back
door who is wearing out the soles on
his own old shoes just precisely be-
cause he isn't allowed to put the soles
on Mrs. Housekeeper's ought-to-be new
ones. And she'll also have the Y. W.
C. A. Secretary or the head of the
Patriotic Relief Bureau ringing her
up in an attempt to place as maid.

Miss Saizie Stenographer, late of the
office at the same shoe factory.

"But I'm not hanging on to my fi\c
dollars — at least not all of it," says
Mrs. Housekeeper; "I mean to give-
some of it away in charity. This will
be a hand winter."

Charity ? And who wants charity ?
Not John at the back door nor Saizie
on the wire, even though both of them
may be forced to ask for it. WTiat
they really want is their everlasting
same-old jobs back. That's all.

And Mrs. Housekeeper — who
doesn't know it, wouldn't dream of it,
couldn't believe it for worlds — -Mrs.
Housekeeper who is so sorry for John
and Saizie and so ready to give them
handouts — Mrs. Housekeeper has
hooked their jobs !

Conversely stated and in shorter
words, what we want is what Great
Britain wants, what she has preached
and pulpiteered and pamphleted to
obtain -- BUSINESS AS USUAL—
and this means that, unless your
receipts have diminished, your ex-
penditure must be kept at par, if the
vast fabric of producing and handling
trade that Canada has built to satisfy
normal Canadian need, is not to be
scrapped in favor of financial chaos
or Utopian and in any case undesirable,
charity.

ATTENTION, YOU ANGLERS

"T^AYS in the Open," by Lathan A.
■^ Crandall (Fleming H. Revell
Co., Toronto), is a book of fish stories
by a minister, who therefore must be
believed when he tells you that he
caught a seventeen-pound muskie and
is the proprietor of an unselfishly-
piscatorial Judge who totes him every-
where he wants to fish and, though a
perfect Izaak W^alton himself, always
insists that the Preacher take the first
chance. From the opening chapter
of the book where the boy says, "Ma,
may I go fishing ?" clear through to
the last of the 270 pages, you hear the
whirr of the cast and the bicker of the
stream and you feel the sunshine on

CANADA MONTHLY

the back of your neck. Dr. Crandall
knows fish and poles and scales (both
Government-inspected and privately-
adjusted) as some men know the ups
and downs of C. P. R. and the echoes
of Hansard. He knows the fish-spots
too — from Prince Edward Island to
Kootenay and from Nipigon to Florida.
He has tales to tell of catch and catcher
in each section touched upon.

"The best trout stream in North
America," the doctor says, "lies be-
tween Chicago and Hudson's Bay. . . .
Behold us on a sunny morning fairly
embarked and headed up the noble
Nipigon. A little geography and
guide-book eloquence might be ap-
propriate just here. The Nipigon
River is the largest tributary to Lake
Superior. It is about forty miles in
length, and the outlet of Lake Nipigon,
a body of water seventy miles long by
fifty miles wide, with a shore line of
five hundred and eighty miles. There
is a fall of one hundred and thirty feet
in its course of forty miles, and that
means numerous cascades and rapids.
But the fact of prime importance is
that this river is the home of big trout;
not only large, but pugnacious. They
are the Sullivans — beg pardon, I mean
the Johnsons — of the Salmo Fontl-
nalis family."

And so on through one lively
leisurely out-o'-doors page after
another, the doctor takes you, making
you recall all your own days in the
open and, if I'm not mistaken, causing
you to start planning your days to
come a whole year ahead.

"THE BAIL JUMPER"

•'-THE Bail Jumper," by Robert
*■ J. C. Stead (William Briggs,
Toronto), is a virile, gripping story of
life in Western Canada. A young
Easterner stops off in a small prairie
town to work in a general store; be-
comes involved in a charge of theft;
supposedly "jumps" his bail, but the
trial shows that his case has been one
of persecution instigated by a rival in
love who sought his disgrace. The
author knows his characters and the
West. The plot is well-knit and
plausible, and the interest is well
sustained. In fact, if you start this
story at night your eyes will likely
be red the next morning — but not
from weeping.

Speaking of dry weather the other
day, some one asked an old farmer out
in an arid western state:

"How would you like to see it rain,
Hiram ?"

"Don't care anything about it my-
self," he answered, "but I've got a
boy six years old that would like to see
it rain."

Dreiting Gowns from $ 1 1 .00
Lounge Jackets. " $8.25

For Sale at Jaeger Stores and Agencies
throughout the Dominion

Dr.JAEGERiK&.

Cardigans, from $3.75
Golfers. " $6.00

TORONTO MON'TREAL WINNIPEG

Incorporated in England in 1883 with British Capital for the British Empire.

The Chief Knitter

Continued from page 104.

Victoria and east to Halifax. In con-
nection with this, Mrs. Gooderham
was commanded to go to Government
House where she was asked to give an
account of the movement. It was a
largely attended meeting. Her Royal
Highness the Duchess of Connaught
presiding, while Princess Patricia and
Lady Borden were also present. Some
time after this meeting was held, the
following telegram, which will show to
what use the money was apportioned,
was sent from London to the Duchess
who forwarded it to Mrs. Gooderham:
"London, Oct. 7th, 1914,

With reference to your despatch
No. 561 of 24th of September, please
inform Duchess of Connaught that
Army Council most gratefully accept
generous gift of $20,000 from women of
Canada and ask that warm thanks
may be conveyed to donors. Army
Council propose to spend whole sum
in purchase of motor ambulance cars,
half to be used in France and half in
this country, and they would arrange
that each car should be inscribed
"Canadian Women's Motor Ambu-
lance." It is estimated that forty cars
could be purchased out of gift.
(Signed) Harcourt."
Perhaps Mrs. Gooderham is best
known in connection with her untiring
work in the Preventorium, where,
through the nursing and attention pro-
vided for them, many of God's little
ones who are the unfortunate offspring
of tubercular parents are given a new
lease of life. Much has been written
on this work before, suffice it to say,
that her efforts have been so appreci-
ated that King George in recognition
has conferred the title of "Lady of

Grace" upon her. She was also com-
manded to attend at the Coronation.
In addition to her labors with the
Daughters of the Empire, Mrs. Good-
erham is interested in a number of
Women's Clubs including the Women's
Art Association, the Women's Musical
Club, the Rosedale Golf Club and
the National Council of Women of
Canada.

But it is perhaps as the perfect,
because the simple and unassuming
hostess, that the mistress of "Dean-
croft" is most of all her real self, look-
ing for the best in everyone, giving to
everyone of her own best, and there-
fore receiving from others that mead
of admiration and true love which is
her due.

The Jade Earring

Continued from page 101.

relation, if extended beyond that, is
liable to abuse. But Miss Meredith's
case is peculiar. She is an old lady —
frail, nervous — quite alone in the world,
for all her relatives have been nurrier-
ous. She's entirely unable to meet
the various business and social de-
mands that are made on a person of her
wealth and position. I am able to get
on with her better than most people,
and so it has happened that I have
given up my practice and devoted my-
self exclusively to her affairs."

He said it all in a very straightfor-
ward fashion. His frankness seemed
almost to admit the existence of a mer-
cenary motive in what he had done, for
certainly he was speaking of her with
no pretense of affection.

But after all one was inclined to say ■
"Why not ?" The only thing that I
didn't like was his telling itjto me. He

120

CANADA MONTH I A'

Victrola XVI.

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Your whole family will be pleased on Christmas morning to
find a Victola in the home.

The Victrola is a worthy addition to any home. Its music
and entertainment are always welcome, and there's surely no
better time to get a Victrola than right now.

Go to-day to any "His Master's Voice" dealer in any city or
town in Canada and see about your Victrola and he will arrange
to deliver it any time before Christmas.

There are victrolas in all Styles and Sizes from $20 to $300. Sold on easy
terms, if desired.

Write for free copy of our 300-page Musical Encyclcpedia listing
over 5C00 Victor Records. Ask to hear "It's a Long Way to
Tipperary" the famous British Marching Song, on Victor Record

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Victor Records — Made in Canada
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45-1 4.30

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$100.00 IN GOLD FOR YOUR CHURCH

IF YOUR CHURCH HAS DEBTS— NEEDS AN ORGAN

OR WISHES TO DECORATE AND MAKE REPAIRS

Here is an opportunity to get money needed easily and quickly without any of the usual
fuss and bother of the old-fashioned, unprofitable ice cream festival, chicken fry, etc.

Write us at once for particulars of our $100 Cash Offer to Churches, or bring this ad. to
the attention of an officer of your Ladies' Aid Society or Sunday School. Act quickly.
Address, CHURCH AID DEPT.

CANADA MONTHLY

TORONTO, ONT.

made such a parade of candor that I
distrusted a little.

He laughed. If I could have spoken
my thoughts aloud he couldn't ha\c-
read them more accurately.

"You're wondering why I should
tell you all this," he said. "Well, it's
a neces.sary preliminary to some ques-
tions I'm going to ask. You know who
it was that Mr. Jeffrey painted the por-
trait of ?"

"Miss Meredith's niece, I think he
said."

He ncxJded. "And did Mr. Jeffrey
inform you also that he accepted Miss
Meredith's commission without seeing
her — that he has never seen her ?"

"Yes," said I. "He told me that,
too."

"It must have struck him as a very
curious arrangement," the doctor went
on. "Really, it was by my advice that
the thing was done that way. As I
said, Miss Meredith is a very nerxous
woman, and the death of her niece
seems to have caused her a serious
shock. They were in Paris together
three years ago when the girl died."

"That would accentuate the shock,
of course," said I, "being alone with
her in a foreign country. They were
traveling about together, I suppose ?"
"No, as a matter of fact," said the
doctor, "they were living in Paris.
Miss Meredith prefers the Continent to
this country, and Claire was, I believe,
studying art."

I couldn't help the catch in my
breath that came just then. I was
quick enough to choke the exclama-
tion of astonishment that was on my
lips. I experienced for a moment the
same sensation that must have been
Jeffrey's constant companion during
the past two months, and I didn't
wonder at the look of panic that some-
times came into his eyes. The doctor
wasn't looking at me, and I was glad
of it.

"That was three years ago, you
say ?" I tried to make the question
sound casual enough, but I don't know
how well I succeeded.

He nodded. "She died of smallpox
during the epidemic of that year," he
said. "Miss Meredith never got over
the shock of it. The girl is very con-
stantly in her thoughts, and she wanted
a portrait that should be a more living
memorial than the one photograph
which she possessed. But you will
understand, I think, that it was impos-
sible, in her condition, to talk calmly
about the girl to a stranger — to tell him
in detail, facts about her appearance
such as Mr. Jeffrey wanted. So I had
to undertake to convey them to him at
second-hand. It is really marvelous
that, under such a handicap, he succeed-
ed so well."

'He told me that Miss Meredith had
Continued on page 143.

CANADA MONTHLY ADVERTISER

121

Pattioi; up meadow hay in the Necbako Valley.

Stock thrives on the rich grasses in the Nechako Valley.

Farming Opportunities in British Columbia

Come to the Rich, Sunny, Mild

NECHAKO VALLEY

on the Main Line of the Grand Trunk Pacific

Let this Board of Trade, which has nothing to sell,
give you reliable, disinterested, free information.

T EARN about the wonderful opportunities for farming and
stock raising in the fertile Nechako Valley, the largest
and richest connected 'area of agricultural land in British
Columbia. Fertile soil. Mild, bracing climate. The best mixed
farming country in Western Canada. On the main line of a
transcontinental railroad. Near good, growing towns. Near
schools and churches.

Government Department of Lands says: " The Valley of the
Nechako comprises one of the finest areas of land in British
Columbia." Dr. Dawson, the well-known Government expert
and investigator, says: " The Nechako Valley is the largest
connected area of lands susceptible to cultivation in the whole
Province of British Columbia."

This Board of Trade does not deal in land nor anything
else. It only wants to bring you and the land together. The

land is here, waiting for you. It will bring you big harvests
every year and keep qn swelling your bank balance.

Let this disinterested Board of Trade advise you about the
farming and stock raising opportunities in this rich Valley. Tell
us how much land you want, what experience you have had in
farming, appro.ximately what you are prepared to pay for the
land and what resources you have to put it under crop. YOU
DO NOT OBLIGATE YOURSELF IN ANY WAY AND
THE INFORMATION WILL BE KEPT CONFIDENTIAL.
We will advise you honestly, frankly, whether there is an oppor-
tunity for you here and if so, where and why. We will bring
you and the land together.

If you have slaved in a more rigorous winter climate, away
from neighbors, away from green trees and clear, running water,
come to the Nechako Valley and enjoy life and prosperity.

Write to-day. Investigate AT ANY RATE. You owe
that to yourself and your family. There is no obligation on
your part and OUR SERVICE IS FREE.

There are several good business openings for jrc-
gressive men and women in this fast growing town.
If you are interested write to-day. Remember this
Board of Trade has nothing to sell you.

Board of Trade
Vanderhoof, B.C.

" The Dominating Center of Nechako Valley."

We have nothing to sell.

Fill out, clip and mail this coupon.

C. M. Dec.
Board of Trade,

Vanderhoof, British Columbia.

I wish to get a farm of acres for

at about $ per acre. My resources

are about $ This coupon

does not obligate me in any way.

Name

Address

122

Your Christmas

Problem Faces

You

Here's an Easy
Solution

BUY BOOKS

THEY are not only reasonable
in price — a mighty big factor
this year — but. if you choose the
right ones, are certain to be thor-
oughly acceptable. You cannot
make a mistake in buying any of
the following at your bookseller's.

THE CALL OF THE EAST

By THURLOW FRASER. $1.26

A refreshing, clean novel of love, war and
heroism, with a touch of the devotional by
an athletic Canadian parson.

SELINA

By GEORGE MADDEN MARTIN. $1.36

What's going to happen to your daughter
when she leaves High school ? Read about
it in this charming novel.

THE CLARION

By SAMUEL HOPKINS ADAMS. $1.36

Patent medicine and newspapers, with a
sprinkling of good romance. May be taken
in large or small doses. A sure cure for
boredom.

QUINNEYS

By H. A. VACHELL. $1.26

An out-of-the-ordinary novel which is going
like pancakes with maple syrup. Yourfriend
will miss something good if he doesn't read it.

CLARK'S FIELD

By ROBERT HERRICK. $1.35

A strong story of unearned millions and what
they didn't Ijring.

ARIADNE OF ALLAN
WATER

By SYDNEY McCALL. $1.25

One of the really sweet stories that maidens
of to-day like so well.

Let your bookseller solve
your Christmas problem

William Briggs

PUBLISHER

29-37 Richmond Street West
TORONTO : : ONT.

CANADA MONTHLY

The Dream of
Prussianism

Continued from page 92.

in cold blood. I well remember the
horror felt in the pension where I was
staying when the news arrived that
at Carlsruhe a German officer had
stabbed a civilian to death for some
alleged insult in a restaurant. The
officer, whose name if I remember
rightly was von Briisewitz, was after-
wards killed fighting for the Boers in
the South African War.

In Heidelberg I once accompanied
an American student to the custom
house to fetch a parcel. The building,
an unpretentious one on the river
bank, had its bare floor littered with
packages and parcels. We entered,
as we thought unobserved, but im-
mediately a sharp voice ordered us
to remove our hats. My American
friend, whose father by the way was
born in Germany, was foolish enough
to protest and argue.

At the German post-offices, where
the officials at the wickets are almost
invariably middle-aged, ambitionless
Germans, one has to obey the regula-
tions to the very last letter or suffer
unpleasant consequences. It is the
same on the railways. Everything is
done with precision. Everything is
rigid. , .

With regard to the newspapers it is
certainly true that, outside of the
Socialist organs, the mihtary auto-
cracy has never received any effective
challenge. And while the Socialists
elect nearly one-third of the members
of the Reichstag and poll over one-
third of the votes cast, it is very easy
to exaggerate the importance of their
movement. In essence it is not a
national democratic movement, but
an international and academic one.
It has failed to attract to itself the
nation's influential men of affairs,
although it receives a large silent vote
from people who by no means share
Socialist doctrine. Such people vote
for the Socialist candidates in order
to record a general protest against
existing conditions. What has _ been
lacking in Germany and what is to-
day lacking is a strong and virile
political party imbued with practical
democratic ideals and commanding
the support of a wide circle of in-
fluential business and professional
men.

During a considerable part of my
stay in Germany I subscribed to and
read closely the "Berliner Tageblatt,"
one of the chief dailies of the country
and one which may be described as
liberal in its views. Yet I can recall
in the columns of the "Berliner Tage-
blatt" no criticism whatever of Ger-
many's constitutional limitations, that

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LONDON. CANADA

The Painless Dru^less

ROAD TO HEALTH

Are you run down ? Ha« di«eaae sapped your
vitality ? Throw off thii worn-out feeling and
regain robuat hcaltli by uae of Oxydonor.

SEVBN YEARS' EXPERIENCE

*Oxydonor has niver failed me, Havehada doubU
and a single Oxydonor for aboul seven years."

MRS. LUC V UEPHAU,

177 Caroline St., North.
Jan 16/A, 1912. Hamilton, Onl.

OVER SIX YEARS' USE
After having an Oxydonor in my house for over
six years, 1 vtonld not part with it for any money if
1 could not get another." MRS. E. S. GIBSON,
Jan 26th. 1913. Toronto. Ont.

Thousands of such letters have been received by
Dr. Sanche.

Beaare of fraudulent imilalions. The gemiint
is plainly stamped with the name of the originator
and inventor. Dr. H. Sanche.
WRITE TO-DAY for FREE BOOK on HBALTB.
Dr. H. Sanche & Co. Dept. 83,
384 St Catherine St. W.. Montreal. Canada.

Oxir^onoc.

is to say of the structure upon which
the whole nationalist, militarist pro-
paganda rested. At least ninety per
cent, of the political articles in what
might be called the liberal press of
Germany dealt with some phase of
the struggle between the industrial
population and the landed aristocracy
in regard to the duties on foodstuffs.
Of any direct attempt to force repre-
sentative and responsible government
upon an unwilling military autocracy,
I remember nothing.

CANADA MONTHLY

I might proceed to illustrate my
contention by the position of women
in Germany. Outside of a relatively
small class, composed chiefly of univer-
sity women, I think I am safe in saying
that German women have been less
touched by the feminist movement
than the women of any other of the
larger countries of the world.

One could very easily trace the
militarist ideal in the student life of
Germany. The German " Kommers"
is a famous institution. It is the
name given to gatherings in which
students and professors foregather to
sing patriotic songs, make patriotic
speeches and drink the national beer.
In the alcoholic atmosphere of the
"Kommers," hundreds of thousands
of German students during the past
quarter of a century have sung, "Ger-
many, Germany Above Everything,
Above Everything in the World" and
this, it seems to me, does not tend to
lay the foundations of a peaceful,
sober democracy.

Whilst it is now some years since I
was in Germany I find on every hand
evidence that there has been no weak-
ening of the militarist spirit there.
Indeed it would seem as if the war
lords had gained steadily in popularity.
I note that a writer in The London
Times, relating his experiences in Ger-
many during the few days immediately
preceding the outbreak of hostilities,
writes of the prevailing atmosphere
very much as I have written of it in
the foregoing. I offer the following
extract from his letter for what it is
worth :

"Thus I found commercial Frankfurt,
scholastic Heidelberg, fashionable Wiesbaden,
and military Coblenz all of the same mind.
To paraphrase an old adage, 'Let me hear a
people's songs, and I will tell you their minds.'
It should be borne in mind that, except Austria
(and Servia), no nation was then at war, yet
the whole German people had the war-fever.
It was most obvious, the Press bulletins, which
take the place of the newspaper poster in
Germany, being eagerly read; always there
was a crowd round them as soon as they were
displayed.

"The hotel Portier at Coblenz congratulated
me on being there that night, 'because of the
excitement about this war,' and he told me
that they were mobilizing. Asked who they
were going to fight, he replied with vigour
that they had stood enough from France and
Russia; and asked what they expected to get
out of a war, he smiled and reminded me that
'Germany had never lost a war and always
got something out of it.' "

No doubt the position of Germany
to-day is capable of explanation. No
doubt fully to appreciate this position
one must know something of the Holy
Roman Empire, something of the
Napoleonic Wars, the revolutionary
period of 1848, the Austrian and
Franco-Prussian Wars, and much
more. But, after all, explanation is
not justification. And it boots little
to point to the oligarchic electoral
system of Prussia, to the slumbering

123

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it does equally good work on a front door
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RERRY BROTHERC

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jealousies of the individual German
states, to the limited powers of the
Reichstag, or to the domination of
Prussia in the Bundesrat or federal
council.

The responsibility for these things
lies in the last resort with the German
people. Nothing, it seems to me,
can alter that. The notion that the
Kaiser and his immediate colleagues
could over-ride the determined will of
sixty-five million people has never
seemed to me to be valid. My

conclusion is then that the German
people as a nation are behind the
Kaiser and his war lords, or at least
that they have been up to the present.
The significance of this difference will
doubtless be noted. It seems to me
that the German people have de-
liberately reared in their midst the
monster of militarism and that this
monster is now, in the fullness of time,
scattering its poisonous brood abroad
in the land.

Before closing I wish emphatically

124

CANADA MONTHLY

" Business as Usual"—
Better, in Fact !

DU RI NO eleven days ending November 6th, 1914,
wc- sold the splendid total of 53 Sherlock-
MannlnGT 20th Century Pianos, while
others were complaining of slack business and
lack of sales.

It simply goes to show that Canadian buyers
will give the preference to the

Style 70— Colonial,

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From present indications, piano prices may shortly take a decided
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year by year, constantly reminding of the kindly
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Let us co-operate with you to make your piano gift
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(No Street Address Necessary)

CANADA

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BEETHAM'S W

si-rola

to disclaim^any animus against the
(ierman people. The four years I
spent in Germany were very happy
ones and, with practically no excep-
tions, I was treated by the German
jieople in a kindly and friendly way.
Even what I have written at the hv-
ginning with regard to Herr IVofessor
was not written in any spirit of antag-
onism. To me the old autocrat was
always friendly and he had generous
impulses. When I left the pension
for England to attend my father's
funeral, Herr Professor insisted upon
kissing me. Heaven grant both him
and Frau Professor a few years of
quiet breathing after the present night-
mare is over. I fear they will have
suffered greatly by the war.

It is clear to me that the German
people, with the spirit of militarism
and the dream of Prussianism exorcised
and blood-sweated out of their system,
will again serve the world through
fruitful and beneficent industry. The
innate ability and the many sterling
qualities of the German people will
again have free play to profit and
enrich the earth. According to one
historian, the German people had
opportunities to put their house in
order in 1848, in 1859 and again in
1862. All these chances were let ship.
However, it is not likely that the
military' autocracy will survive the
present shock.

The Lamplighter

Continued from page 106.

practicability of the scheme had been
demonstrated, the future Power
Minister moved out into the Province.

Here he found a giant Roseberx
who wasn't even pulling a Canadian
cab. With the amazing thorough-
ness that characterized his every new
endeavor, Mr. Beck set about hame^-
ing Niagara.

To-day the Hydro Electric Power
Commission controls a transmission
line that stretches clear across the t\\'i
hundred and fifty two miles to Wind-
sor. One hundred and six municipali-
ties have contracted for. power. And
this of course is only a beginning com-
pared to the hurdles of distance that
Niagara's new master plans to makt
him jump when Canada is good and
ready to pay for it.

Turning once more to London, M
Beck conceived the idea that the tov i
should buy and electrify the Pon
Stanley railroad. Half the peopir
didn't understand the pros and con~.
but, "Adam says it's o. k.," so thc\-
voted for it despite the bitter attacks
of his political opponents.

His latest achievement has been the
Tuberculosis Sanitarium at Byron, for
the success of which Lady Beck has
done as much as her husband. Some-

CANADA MONTHLY ADVERTISER

125

Russell Cars Guarantee Quality — Service — and Value

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126

CANADA MONTHLY ADVERTISER

The Climax of Six Cylinder

Efficiency

'PHIS announces the widely discussed and keenly
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value standards.

Specifications of Model 82

Seven passenger touring car
125-inch 'cuheel base
Electrically started
Electrically lighted
Color— Royal blue, ivory <whife

striping
Hand buffed leather, long grain

bright French finish
One man top

Pockets in all doors

Rain vision, ventilating type

vjindshield, built in
Extra long underslung rear

springs
Full floating rear axle
35 inch x 4)4 inch tires; smooth

tread in front; non-skid in rear
L eft hand drive

Centre control
45 horsepo<wer motor
High tension magneto
Demountable rims
One extra rim

High grade magnetic speedometer
Electric horn

Electric control buttons on steering
column

Catalogue on request. Please address Depl. 3

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Overland Model SO T - $H25
Overland Model 80 R - $1390

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Overland Model SI T
Overland Model 81 R

sua

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The Willys-Overland of Canada, Limited, Hamilton, Ont.

CANADA MONTHLY

times the Power Minister had to be
in his car by eight o'clock in order
to slip in a run to Byron, but he was
never too busy to spend half an hour
over the plan of a new pig-pen, or
fifteen minutes to argue with the
electrician as to the placing of a switch
in the bam.

Perhaps no conquest of Mr. Beck's
has been more surprising to his fellow-
townsmen than has his victory over
his own disabilities as a speaker.
Cromwell doubtless talked with his
sword, and Moses we read was a man
of a halting tongue. But the Power
Minister determined to harness the
English language as effectively as he
had bridled Rosebery and put a bit
into Niagara's mouth. To-day he is
one of the finest orators we have in
Canada — not the silver - tongued,
wooden -headed kind, but the sort
who build with steel-reenforced con-
crete logic, and drive the audience in
bodily with sheer moral earnestness.
Finally to the King, sitting in Buck-
ingham Palace with his advisers, came
word of this loyal subject.

"Rise, Sir Adam," said the King.
It mayn't mean much to an Ameri-
can, but we British like to honor our
finest even when we speak to them and
surely no knighthood was ever better
and more lastingly earned.

Then came the days of the Empire's
trouble, pouring white hot from the
converter of Time, glaring across half
a world plunged in night.

"Sir Adam," said the King to this
man of German lineage who had
offered himself to serve in any capacity,
"you know horses. Buy for my
Army as well as for your own Over-
seas contingent. Add yet this one
thmg more to the burdens you have
taken up for the State."

So Sir Adam bought, 1,400 of them
so far, brave beasts for the Germans
to shoot at.

Last of all, so rumor says, the party
he had served— if one may use such a
word of such a man— came to him
leaderless, and offered him the Pro-
vincial Premiership.

It would have dazzled a smaller
man.

"I am no politician and I never will
be," he replied. "I will buy horses
because I understand horses and I
I will run the Hydro because I under-
stand that too. But the Premiership
IS not for me."

! It's a hard thing to write of a living
,man who moves so fast. Next year
will doubtless find Sir Adam questing
!off to tame some.new leviathan. The
[present writer, though not of the
'Power Minister's political faith, ven-
itures to assert that however big and
:howcver rampageous the beast may
be, SIX months at most will suffice to
teach it to know its master's voice. '

127

The Tire
that Endured

Service alone has kept one tire to the fore
Tires have come and gone, but Goodyears continue
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• u ^"^^ J^J.^'}° Goodyears as "the well-balanced tires " That
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Each part is designed to last as long as every other part Such
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Others call Goodyears "the consistent tires." That is heraii«>

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FOR SALE BY ALL DEALERS.

128

CANADA MONTHLY ADVKRTISER

U I It

Get Real Tire Economy!

Motoring is two things — a pleasure and a
business. One might say it was used sixty
per cent, for entertainment and forty per
cent, for commercial purposes. Yet no
matter whether you use your car to get
orders or ozone, your greatest economy
will be the reduced cost of mishaps.

No accident ever befel an automobile but
\7hat the tires were forced to play a part in
it. And no accident ever was averted but
what the tires had a say in that, too.

If you will drive fast.

If you will make those sudden stops.

If the city will water asphalt.

If rain will make muddy roads ;

Why then — the possibility of skidding
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T. 113

u^m

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^Mad

CANADA MONTHLY

129

As Keissheitai

Continued from page 83.
ing his dismissal. But once more his
senior seemed to have forgotten him.
Finally: "You have added your dis-
aster to the heaviest our arms have
suffered. We have sent to His Majesty,
our Emperor, the saddest news we have
dispatched since we took to war. You
did not see the Yashima and the
Hatsuse with the ffeet this morning
because you shall never again see them
with the fleet!"

The confirmation of his fears tore the
cry from the sub-lieutenant. "Our
Yashima! Our Hatsuse!"

"At noon, yesterday, the Hatsuse
while steaming with the Yashima,
Shikishima and cruisers Kasagi and
Tatsuta, before Port Arthur, ran upon
a field of the enemy's submerged mines.
The Hatsuse, striking one mine and
starting to sink, struck another mine
before aid arrived and immediately
sank, carrying down the captain and
more than half the crew!"

"Our Hatsuse lost!"

His senior continued. "In coming
to aid the Hatsuse, the Yashima also
struck a mine; and soon sank also!"

Adachi's breath seemed to fail him,
as if from pressure upon him. The
cold, pitiless words of his Commodore
seemed physically to crush sense of the
double disaster upon him, and it seemed
that the senior intended to wring from
the boy his cry:

"The Hatsuse and Yashima lost to
Japan!"

"The Hatsuse lost to our country,
yes. Lieutenant Yasui! It sank in
plain sight of all the Russians on their
hills. That cannot be concealed. So
the admiral has telegraphed to Japan
the loss of the Hatsuse. To-day it is
being mourned in our country, and the
men who died upon it, honored.

" But the Yashima, having the aid
of the Shikishima, and the cruisers,
kept afloat six hours after it struck the
mine — till it was beyond sight of the
Russians. So the Yashima sank; yet
— if only the foreign news-boat, Caesar,
might also now strike a floating mine
before it reaches Chi-Fu — our Yashima,
though sunk, need not be lost to
Japan!"

"If the foreign news-boat strike a
mine!"

"The Admiral has reported to the
Navy Depiartment only that the Yash-
ima is lost. He forbade it to be told
even to our people; for he requires that
our enemies must still believe the
Yashima is in our battle line! They
must not know that to-day we have
but three battleships where yesterday
we had five! Their ships must not
dare to come out ! They cannot
defeat us; but — if they learn we have
lost the Yashima besides the Hatsuse —

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130

CANADA MONTHLY

ovc
Monor
Protect

''And the Groom's Gift to the Bride

Was a Twenty-year Endowment

Policy in the London Life

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Of course it caused a good deal of comment. Some
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pressed the opinion of most shrewd men by saying: —
"That young fellow's career will be worth watching, not
because he took out an insurance policy in favor of his
wife — the law should compel every man to do that —
but because he invested in a London Life Policy. Mere
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The London Life

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LONDON - CANADA

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they will dare to attack so as to cripple
us, perhaps too seriously. If we keep
them from knowing, we can hold them
as we have held them in their harbour
and destroy them, at last, without loss
to our fleet when our siege guns strike
over their hills! And our fleet, intact,
will meet whatever other fleet our
enemies may send!

"This the Admiral believed still
could be, when he sailed this morning.
We believed that we alone knew that
our Yashima was sunk! But now has
come word that the news-man upon the
Caesar — at this moment but a few
miles off," he pointed the direction,
"has learned the news and will pass for
Chi-Fu with it ! And so are our hands
held from this news-boat, that, unless
we can be sure it goes upon a mine — a
mine. Lieutenant Yasui- — ^and so sink
with all on board we dare not prevent
that news from being sent and becom-
ing soon known to the Russians!"

"But a mine!" Adachi sucked his
breath, as he ventured to let himself
hope. "A mine!" he cried

"A mine still may save us the
Yashima, Lieutenant Yasui! But a
mine only! If one word were whis-
pered even in our ranks, now or later,
that one of our ships struck that news
boat— neutral, representing those who
are our friends — the money we must
have from the foreigners would be
gone! Our victorious army on the
Yalu must retreat on the ground they
have drenched with their blood —
retreat for lack of supplies! And our
soldiers must starve and freeze this
winter in their trenches before Port
Arthur! So it is better — far better —
word that the Yashima is lost be sent
at once from Chi-Fu and reach our
enemies and send them out to cripple
our fleet, than that ever a rumor could
rise that our ships have acted against
the Caesar!"

The joy of his incredible realization
choked Adachi's words and the pres-
sure, relaxed from his lungs, held him
gasping.

" But if the Caesar sink from a mine
— a mine?" he pleaded.

"That will be a different matter — if
it be, without fail, a mine! So good-
bye, Lieutenant Yasui! Take your
ship at once, with reduced crew, for
Sasebo, as ordered, — envying no longer
your brother at the head of his keis-
sheitail" The Commodore motioned
to the box in Adachi's hand. "How
brilliantly his death-flower blos-
somed!"

The boy, lifted in one instant from
the lowest degradation to the highest
opportunity to efface it, returned
swiftly to his ship. He bore under his
coat the little wooden box of his
brother's ashes. His fingers again and
again tenderly touched the cover
inscribed with the new name by which

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^_ TORONTO _^^^^^^_

THE
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CANADA MONTHLY

his brother's honored spirit was now
known in the Temple of Kudan.

Finding the hasty patching and
calking of the Sansanami almost com-
pleted, he directed Majuka to reduce
the crew to the minimum for "certain-
death" service — to explain to the men
it was to be, not merely a "resolved-
to-die_" detachment, but as a "keis-
sheitail" Accordingly to take only
the necessary ones of those that offered
themselves.

_ Hurriedly he himself saw that addi-
tional coal had been brought, that his
torpedo tubes and machine-guns were
in order.

Yet, as he stepped to his station and
swiftly guided the Sansanami back
through the fleet to sea, was there a
chance for him again to fail? Were
those upon the other ships in reality
observing him taking his ship to
Sapebo in disgrace, or, as keissheitai,
going out upon certain-death service
for his country?

Suppose he should fail to find the
Caesar — suppose, in fact, the news-
boat had gone upon a floating mine!
He could hear old Majuka crooning to
himself as he stood by the forward
torpedo-tube, caressing it lovingly with
his wrinkled hand. It was a snatch of
an old Samurai song.

"My sword, you never tasted blood.

Wait yet awhile, only a little

longer!"

The same confidence inspired the

others to whom their commander had

promised glorious death. Stepping a

moment below, after he had brought

the Sansanami safely to sea, how the

sure-death devotion shone even in the

stoke-hold ! How it glowed on the face

of even stupid, clumsy Takesaburo as

he opened the firedoors and he bent in

the red light of the flaming coals.

Adachi's fears returned, as he again
took the bridge. No smoke yet was in
sight where he should find the Caesar ;
ahead he saw one, on the beam another,
and now ahead still another floating
mine. Was their work already done by
one of these? It could not be so!
No! Ahead, now smoke!

Softly, unceasingly, he prayed to his
brother's spirit, as the distance dimin-
ished. He made out, through his
glasses, that the ship might well be the
Caesar.

Half an hour more and there remain-
ed no doubt of it. Seeing the swift
pursuit of the torpedo boat, the news-
boat raised its identification pennant,
dispelling all question.

Adachi Yasui, on his bridge, swung
his glass swiftly about the horizon.
No other ship was anywhere in sight.
So he and his men are keissheitail
He bent over the bridge rail and
shouted the order exultantly, first
forward to Majuka, and then to the
after torpedo tube.

131

The Best
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>A/hy You

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SEAL
BRAND

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Is,.
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CHASE & SANBORN

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148

132

TheKhuWWwl

De Luxe
Daven-
port

Design
Colonial

DAY e NtCnr SERVICE

Jin

COMVUNIBNCB

T^HE hospitality
^ that extends sleep-
ing accommodations
to guests over one night
and possibly more, will be
taxed to capacity in many
homes during the Holidays
Such circumstances
prove how absolutely in-
dispensable a IDndd con-
vertible Davenport o r
Divanette may become
as an essential part of the
furnishings.

In a moment the good-
looking Davenport or
Divanette that has been
serving, except in emer-
gencies — perhaps for a
long time — as one of the
most favored pieces of
furniture in the house, is
converted into a bed that,
in point of comfort, could
leavenothingtobe desired
In the morning it will be
as instantly returned to
the other service as it was
converted into a bed. All
the bedding will be left
upon it ready for another
consecutive night of use
as a bed.

In either of these services,
the three styles of the BtaM
Kind find unusual favor. These
three styles are the Somersaul-
t ic, the De Luxe and the Divan-
ette. All accomplish the
same purpose equally well
— it is simply a question of
>our own preference.

AskSoT a copy of theKindel

booklet, "The House Thai

Crew "

The BbiM Bed Company, Limited

New York

14 Clifford Street
Toronto

Grand Rapids

Readers of
Canada Monthly!!

If you know of any men who are
serving our King in the present
war who are old Students of Trinity
College School, will you please send
their names to

The Headmaster

Trinity College School

Port Hope, Ont.

CANADA MONTHLY

"Tubes clear for action to port.
Goal moving at about nine knots. We
[lass at two hundred yards!"

Again he touched the bell-signal to
the engine room.
"Full speed ahead!"
With engines humming, the whole
iron shell — the bridge, funnel, the
entire super-structure — vibrating, and
spray flying on all sides, the Sansanami
leaped still faster forward.

"Fire!" The order loosed both tor-
pedoes together. Shooting into the
water, splashing, their whirling pro-
pellers caught and they furrowed side
by side straight to the beam of their
goal. Adachi called quickly a warning
to the men at the machine guns to be
ready. But together the torpedoes
had gone home; and, as the waters
subsided where the moment before had
been the Caesar, Adachi commanded
the machine guns unloaded. For he
saw that instantaneously all was over.
Mechanically he ordered the engi-
neer, through the speaking-tube to
slow down; and he gave his direction
to the helmsman.

He had not failed! He and his men,
as keissheitai, had done their duty.
But, instead of the greater exultation
he had expected, sadness surprised
him. It was not for the certainty of
his own death, he knew. It was grief,
honorable regret and sympathy, for
the fate of the men whose death he had
just ordered.

They were very few upon the news-
boat^ — not so many as his own men
upon the Sansanami. Therefore more
than full satisfaction for them would be
rendered. Yet how sad and unjust that
what he had done was the only thing
that could have been done! The
unfortunate foreign-news-man had in-
tended no hostility to Japan. Yet
inevitably he must have done irrepar-
able injury. And there was no other
way to have argued the difficulty.
The news-man knew what must not be
known; therefore, he was silenced,
together with those who knew it with
him. For that unjustifiable act, hav-
ing no other right than their necessity,
those that killed the foreigners wouid
offer themselves as compensation.

Yasui felt sympathy for his men,
too. It was clear that they had
expected such certain-death service .i-
they had heard of — a wild, intoxicated,
life-reckless dash and attack at full
speed through a half -blocked channel,
over mines and between obstructions,
and under deadly fire from all sides.
Thus torpedo-boats had attacked be-
fore, and the former certain-death
detachments of the Navy had taken in
the fire-boats and the hulks to sink in
the harbour.

They believed that their duty still
was to be done; for the Sansanami's
bow had been turned to Port Arthur.

CHILDREN
WILL HAVE

CUTICURA
50AP

Because of its soothing emol- I
lient properties in all cases of
irritation of the skin and
scalp, especially when assist-
ed by light touches of Cuti-
cura Ointment, a fragrant,
super-creamy emollient.

Samples Free by Mail

Cutlcura Soap and OIntnirnt wild throughout tlie
world. Liberal sample of each nialle<l free, with 32-p.
book. Address "Cutlcura." r>ept. 133. Boetoo.

(^^I^T^iJf^ A^ihVtfC^^^KC'

A Useful Gift

Is Always Appreciated

The next] time you stop at your local
stationer. Jeweler or Druggist, ask him
to showj you his assortment of

"A. A. FOUNTAIN PENS"

You will find beautiful gold mounted,

pearl handle, plain and chased pens that

are attractive presents.

$2.00 and [up.

Our safety pens never leak and
are con\'enient for the ladies.
Perhaps our catalogue would give
vou some suggestions for Christ
inas. We will be happy to tnail
vou a copy. It shows our com-
plete line of Self -Fillers, Middle
Joint, Lower! End Joint, and
Safety Fountain Pens.

Arthnr A. Waterman & Compaay,

11 THAMES STREET, HEW YORK CITY

l^iot connected with
L. E. Waterman Company

CANADA MONTHLY

133

It was late in the afternoon. For an
hour no ship, except that which had
been destroyed, had showed within the
green horizon rim. But now, far to
the west, black objects rose from time
to time — the watching Japanese battle-
ships and cruisers, turning back and
forth at their guard stations off Port
Arthur. They were barely in sight,
and Yasui ordered the helmsman to
avoid them.

However, they had told him that
to-day the blockade was as usual ; that
the Russians had not dared to come
out; that, not having heard, now they
could not hear of the Yashima!

The slow sun of late May sank over
the Laoteshan mountains. Its long,
fiery rays glowed over the steep cliffs
below Port Arthur; their magnificent
red radiance spread over the water.
And now, straight ahead, lay a shoal,
sown thick with the Russian mines.

The Sansanami, steering for this, was
seen by the light cruisers and destroyers
which had relieved the armoured
vessels before the harbour's mouth.
The nearest signaled a warning.

But Adachi Yasui only requested
Majuka to hold to the course. Having
ordered that generous rations, with a
cup of sake, be given to each man, he
went below to see that all had drunk.

From the tiny cages of bamboo,
where the sailors kept little green and
black crickets as pets, a cheerful chirp-
ing assailed him. Glancing about, he
saw that the bits of rind upon which
the crickets fed, recently had been
pressed into each little cage.

Suddenly, in his transport of glorious
expectation, came to him the recollec-
tion of the line spoken by the poet,
Basho, upon parting with a friend,
hearing the crickets.

"Nothing in the cicada's voice
Gives token of a speedy death."

How beautiful! But — an uncon-
trollable shout from above! Already
the Sansanami was upon the mines!

Adachi leaped for the ladder; but
too late to see it. His fingers felt
under his coat for the little box of his
brother's ashes

Sub-lieutenant Yasui, late in com-
mand of torpedo boat of the third class.
No. 108, slowly recognized that the
man bathing his face was strong
Takesaburo, the stoker. Still more
slowly he realized that he and Takesa-
buro were in a little boat half full of
water, and that blood stained the water
in it — that he and the stoker alone
lived of those that had been upon the
Sansanami, and that nothing remained
of the torpedo boat but a few floating
splinters, and the little leaking dinghy
to which Takesaburo must have swum
with him.

Yet the red glow of the sun behind
the Russian forts seemed no less. To
his men death must have come as

J^or Ghrisfmas jy^orrjirjg

A KODAK

And throughout the day the taking
of pictures of all that goes to make that
day a merry one.

CANADIAN KODAK CO., LIMITED

Catalogue free at your dealer's
or by mail.

TORONTO

swiftly as to those upon the Caesar.
Blood covered J^Takesaburo's big
body; he was surely hurt badly; yet
he had thought only of his commander;
and his thick fingers had been bathing
and bandaging so tenderly. He had
stripped himself entirely to thrust
strips of his clothes into the leaking
seams of the boat; and he had labored,
so smilingly, to keep it afloat till the
Japanese destroyer, which had sig-
nalled the Sansanami the moment be-
fore, could come to them.

How sad to tell Takesaburo that he
had done only wrong.

"Takesaburo, for our country's
safety, we without warrant took the
lives of foreigners neutral upon the
vessel Caesar, which we destroyed.
Wherefore — in order that no harm may
come upon our comrades for this — ^we,
with our lives, must satisfy the crime.
To us who have left Japan fully deter-
mined to turn into dust under the hoofs
of His Majesty's steed, declaring,
'Here I stand ready to die,' has come

134

// is the Task, the Flavor of

BAKERS
COCOA

That Makes It
Deservedly Popular

Registered
Trade-Mark

An absolutely pure, deli-
cious and ■wholesome food
beverage, produced by a
scientific blending of
high-grade cocoa beans
subjected to a perfect me-
chanical process of manu-
facture.

Made in Canada by

Walter Baker&Co.Liniited

Established 1780
Montreal, Can. Dorchester, Mass.

KEEP

Absorbine, Jr.
Handy

It gives prompt
relief from aches
and pains — it keeps
little cuts and
bruises from be-
coming more serious
— protects sensitive
throats from infec-
tion.

Absorbine.J-

THE ANTIStPTIC LrwIMENT

TRADE MARK HE& U. S. PAT. Ot^F.

This doubles its efficiency and its uses. Absorbine.
Jr.. is especially good for children's hurts l^ause it is
so harmless and safe to use — made of pure herbs and
contains no acids or minerals.

FOR TOOTHACHE. A few drops of Absorbine. Jr.
rubbed on the gums or applied on cotton to cavity
will promptly stop the aching. But don't let the
rt'lief from pain keep you from your dentist.
FOR CUTS, BRUISES. Absorbine, Jr., takes out
soreness, kills the germs, makes the part aseptically
clean and promotes rapid healing.

FOR SPRAINS AND SWELLINGS. It allays pain
promptly ; reduces inflammation and swelling.
$1.00 and $2 00 per bottle at dealers or delivered.
Send 10 cents for liberal trial bottle or pro-
cure regular size from your druggist to-day.

W. F. Yonnfi, P. D. F.

512 Lymus BIdi. Montreal, Can.

CANADA MONTHLY

the cherished opportunity to perish for
our country's safety."

He thought, for an instant, and,
finding in a pocket two chestnuts, he
offered one to the stoker.

"This was offered to the gods by my
mother, and she told me to eat this
without fail before offering myself to
die. I will eat one, and do you also eat
one. This must be our last farewell.
Remember me as your true elder
brother to eternity!"

Takcsaburo, the stoker, understand-
ing, reached for his knife. His features
were composed and his hand steady;
only, being of low birth, his clumsiness
and lack of confidence in the presence
of his superior abashed him.

"Lieutenant, if you really think of
me as your younger "brother," he
requested, respectfully pointing to the
officer's pistol, "do you please "

Sub-lieutenant Yasui, alone remain-
ing of those that had forfeited their
lives, saw that he had still a moment to
prepare himself calmly and with digni-
fied exultation.

He took from his coat the ashes of
his brother and strewed them reverent-
ly before him.

Tearing Takesaburo's rude calking
from the side of the boat so that it must
rapidly sink, he took the stoker's sharp
knife in his hand.

Baring his abdomen, he bowed twice,
firmly repeating his consecration so
that, for the unjustifiable wrong he had
done, he and those already dead might
bear the retribution and take it from
his superiors in the service of his
country.

So he §poke to the spirits of the dead.
"I, and I alone, was responsible for
the order given to fire upon the neutral
boat-of the-foreigners, Caesar, and for
the unwarrantable death of those which
I caused. For this crime I disembowel
myself, and I beg you who are present
to do me the honor of witnessing the
act."

So, as the little boat sank, the
rescuing torpedo boat found upon the
water only a spot of blood — still red,
for the instant, red as the last glow of
the sun over the Russian hills. Ac-
cordingly those upon the torpedo-boat
believed that they had witnessed
merely the useless self-destruction of a
too proud, foolish boy who had lost his
ship. But their superiors, to whom
they reported, knew that it was because
of that blood upon the water that the
Russians, as they watched from their
hills for the Japanese ships, still saw
. always the mighty battleship Yashima
under the smoke on the horizon; and
that from that blood the belief that the
Yashima was with the fleet still fed the
fears of the Russians as Rojestvensky
steered his ships for Tsushima!

.^TttL.

Tho General
sayss-

There are many ■nlausihU "tests"
of rofjfiiig, but there Is only ono
true test — the proof on the roof.

Therefore, roof your buildings —
everybuildingon the farm — with

Certain - teed

ROOFING

—the roofing with a 15-year-ser-
vlce-guarantee.The three biggest
rooflnir mills in the world are behind It,
to make that miarantee good.

Your dealer can famish CgrMn-Ufd
Kooflnirln rolls and shingles— made by
the General Kooflnsr iUe. Co., vxirld »
larttest roofing mnnufnctnrtirt. East St.
Louis, 111., ^larM,■ill^;s, 111., York, Pa.

DIAMONDS

CREDIT

Terms 20% down $1-2-3 Weekly

Let us send you a Diamond on approval

at our expense.
The Jacobs' credit system enables you to
make beautiful Christmas Presents with-
out the outlay of much money. Diamonds
increase in value lOto 20 percent, each year.

GIVE HER A BEAUTIFUL DIAMOND FOR CHRISTMAS

A Diamond is the best investment you can make.

Send for Catalogue to-<Uy. Now. Don't delay.

WB TRUST ANY HONEST PERSON.

Special Holiday discount of 10 per cent, on all rash
purchases. Ail transactions strictly confidential.
Payments may be made weekly or monthly. We
send Diamonds to any part of Canada for your
inspection at our expense.

JACOBS BROS.

Diamood Importers
15 Toronto Arcade Toronto, Canada

JfSven
'' Tlamed

An Ideal Holiday Gift.
Are better than marking ink for wearing
apparel, household linen, etc. Any name in
fast color thread can be woven into fine white
cambric upe. $2.00 for 12 doz., $1.25 for 6 doz.. 85c
for 3 doz.. duty paid. These markings more than save
their cost by preventing laundry losses. They make a
dainty, individual gift. Have your friends' name woven,
Orders filled in a week through your dealer, or write lot
samples, order blanks, catalogue of woven names, trim-
mings, frillings, etc.. direct to

J. & J. CASH, Ltd.

301D SI. James Street. Montreal, Can.

Or 304 Cliestnut Street, South Worwalk, Conn.

CANADA MONTHLY

135

St. Nicholas and
the Lovers

Continued from page 89.

"Fanny ! What the — ^what is it ?
Are you ill ? Merry Christmas."

"Come out here, quick !"

In a moment the astounded Allen
emerged, his head tousled and over
his pajamas a bathrobe. "What on
earth "

"Don't talk. Cecelia's discovered
that the picture is gone. She's made
an awful scene. She nearly tore me
limb from limb. I was so frightened
I nearly died. She's sitting there
now moaning and going on like a
maniac. I never saw such a fool. We've
got to do something."

"Do something," weakly repeated
Fritz. "Do "

"Right now. Do something. If
you could hear her ! My heavens, I
never had such a time in my life."

"But wh — wh- — what are you going
to do ?" he asked helplessly.

"I've thought it all out. There's
just one chance to save our lives.
You've got to go and get Lucius and
tell him Cecelia wants to see him."

Allen gasped. "Lucy. But — O,
my good Lord ! But suppose- "

"You needn't suppose anything.
There's just one chance ! They're
both silly about each other, and if he
gets there and sees her, he'll try to
comfort her and — go— now. Tell him
to bring the picture, too."

The thoroughly confused Allen de-
parted, rubbing his eyes. He found
Lucius still sitting in a daze before his
little table, the portrait in his hand.

"Say," Fritz began awkwardly,
"Cecelia has sent for you. She wants
to see you to-night — now. Don't wait.
She's in a hurry !"

"Wants to see me ?" asked Pretty-
man. "What "

"Now — right off — in the studio. I
don't know what for. Come on.
Bring the miniature."

But — but "

(), say, Lucy, the girl wants you.
Come on." And he half dragged, half
pushed the older man from his room,
feebly protesting. Fanny stole be-
hind them on tiptoe.

"Don't mind what she says," en-
couraged Allen at Cecelia's door.
"You go in and make it all right with
.her !"

Without listening to Prettyman's
vague ramblings and distressed pro-
. tests, Fritz opened the door and shoved
him in.

"Reach in and get the key and lock
the door — on the outside," commanded
Fanny at his elbow.

The key turned in the lock.

"Now, we'll have to stand here and
wait and " began Fanny.

Kill two birds with one stone and travel

via THE

CANADIAN ROCKIES

to the

PANAMA PACIFIC EXPOSITION

If you are planning your 1915 trip to San Francisco, make sure your
ticket reads via Canadian Pacific, otherwise you will miss the grandeur
beauty of nature's most stupendous works — The Canadian Rockies.

BANFF

LAKE LOUISE FIELD

GLACIER

Are important tourist stop-over points on the Canadian Pacific Railway
route to the Pacific Coast. These have excellent hotel accommodation,
with opportuntles for riding, climbing, i^wimming, boating and golf.

Agents will personally call on you to arrange your itinerary.
Write, phone or call on nearest C. P. R. Representative.

A. O. SEYMOUR,

General Tourist Agent,

Canadian Pacific Railway,
Montreal.

"And pray," finished Fritz.

From within came low murmurs —
then long silences — then again the
murmurs. With long silences — -then
again the murmurs. With chattering
teeth and shivering limbs Fanny and
Fritz waited — waited, it seemed to
them, for hours. A few dwellers in
the top-story passed them and stared
curiously, but Fanny and Fritz were
oblivious. After a long time they
heard some one rattling at the door.
Fanny drew a long breath.

"Open it," she directed. "For bet-
ter or for worse."

Lucius Prettyman emerged. On
his face was a sentimental smile of
utter blissfulness.

"Merry Christmas, Lucy," ventured
Fritz.

"I — -I've had a — -a beautiful Christ-
mas present — it's Cecelia. We — we're
engaged," he grinned bashfully.

"Thank heaven, I can go to bed,"
remarked Fanny.

136

CANADA MONTHLY

When Stores are Dear

And remember that every bottle of Bovril contains
the nourishment and stimulating qualities of many
pounds of beef. It is because of its unique feeding
properties that Shackelton, when planning his great
Antarctic Expedition, said — It must be Bovril.

Of all stores, etc. at X-oz. 25c.: 2-oz. 40c.; 4-oz. 70c.; 8-oz. $1.30; 16 02. $2.25.
Bovril Cordial, large. $1.26; 6-0*. 40c. 16-oz. Johnston's Fluid Beef (Vimbos) $1.20.

CATERING TO CANADIANS

I*." The names of Canadians visiting this hotel are immediately communi-
cated to the general manager, who personally arranges for their comfort
and accommodation. The "Old Country" atmosphere of hospitality is
combined with the most modern American hotel conveniences at the

HOTEL MARTINIQUE

BROADWAY AMD 32ND STREET

CHARLES LEIGH TAYLOR, President WALTER S. GILSON, Vice- President

WALTER CHANDLER. JR., Manager

You can secure a pleasant room and bath for $2.50 per day. Our $1.50
table d'hote dinner, served in the Louis XV. room, is regarded as the best
in the country, and is accompanied by the music of a full orchestra
with vocal quartettes by singers from the MetropoHtan Opera House.
For literature and reservations address our Canadian advertising agents.

SELLS LIMITED

SHAUGHNESSY BUILDING, . . . .

MONTREAL

How Do You Know That You Are

Getting All the'Time for Which

You Are Paying Wages?

Any system of recording the
arrival and departure of employees
that is dependent for its success
upon the honesty and energy of a
clerk is liable to go wrong. Every
time keeper has his friends, his prejudices,
and his weaknesses. He is only human !
The Dey Dial Time Recorder [(illustrated
here) is adjusted and regulated to the
highest pitch of absolute accuracv It
cannot go wrong unless tampered with,
and a simple movement of the pointer
records the actual time of arrival and
departure of each employee, "lates" being
automatically shown in different colored
ink.

The Dey is made in many different
sizes and st> les. We have a Dey clock
that will just suit your business. Cata-
logue I has many valuable pointers^ for
every merchant. Write us for it.

International Time Recorder Co.

of Canada, Limited.

19-21-23 Alice Street, Toronto, Ont.

Card Indexing
the Babies

Continued from page 98.

keep not only these utensils, but all
others, as clean as the milk.

Even here, the staff reported pro-
gress. After which the white-clad
ladies got talking among themselves
and speedily soared into regions too
rarefied for the lay mind, while a
blue-dressed, black-lace-shawled gypsy
waited lor her offspring's bottle out-
side the enclosure and the reporter
investigated the oven where the lx)ttles<
were baked overnight in a temperature
of 250 degrees in order to ensure the
absolute cleanliness that even washing
soda and the laws of Moses couldn't
guarantee.

After a drink of sixteen per cent,
cream as a reward for not talking, the
reporter was led back to the taxi and
whirled off down town to where the
Island Queen was about to cast off
her hawser for an ali-aftemoon sail out
on the Lake. Mr. Solman, the boat's
owner, donates her for three afternoons
a week, a daily newspaper provides
an equipment and the ever-watchful,
cheerfully-cooperating Health Board
comes through with two nurses and
an assistant. The cargo provides it-
seli to the tune oi sonje 200 as an aver-
age, babies not sick but ailing, and
mothers, just smoky-lunged from the
city and din-tired and weary with
pushing a go-cart as a necessar>'
accompaniment to getting outdoors.

The two nurses sat at a table while
the mothers passed in a long line.

"Breastfed or bottlefed?" asked the
little nurse.

"Bottlefed, please Miss."

"What formula?" was the next
query, as the assistant made out a
tea-and-biscuits card for the mother
herself, said card good for later on in
the afternoon.

"And will you believe it," the re-
porter was told, "we've never found
a woman yet who didn't know her
baby's formula! Doesn't that speak
pretty well for the instruction our
nurses give in the homes?"

Then, while the tired housekeepers
go up on deck, and the little whimperers
slumber in the hammocks provided,
or watch the gulls over the blue water,
or just lie still and think, babywise,
the nurses and their assistant make
up the feedings, and by the time the
mothers come with their tea-tickets,
the bottles are ready for the kiddies.

Last of all we went back to the
Creche where Queenie lies in her
white crib and here we talked a little
of the wonderful scheme whereby the
Health Department enlists the chari-
table lady and the crusty old doctor
and the boat-magnate and the clergy-

CANADA MONTHLY

137

man and the little tenement mother-
kins with her pigtail down her back.
The Central Office at the City Hall
deals only with the three supervisors
of districts and the nurse and her
assistant who are in charge of all clinics.
For the rest, the army runs itself, over
the 'phone, through the mail, by taxi
and bicycle messengers.

The Malby Family and Isabella-
from-Liverpool and Queenie-without-
a-name never see the coral sweet peas
on the green blotting pad in the Super-
intendent's office. But the Superin-
tendent sees them, just as she sees
Monty and Francesca doing folk dances
in the Creche kintergarten and Mrs.
Millions taking the Jones baby out
in her motor, and the Tomkins boy
having his tonsils bloodily removed
down at the General Hospital, and
the Girls' Club that provides ice for
nothing to those who'll build an ice-
box.

"Teamwork, teamwork," says the
Superintendent, "march apart and
fight together. That's it."

Lord, what a fight !

Soldiering at
Salisbury

Continued from page 109.

four cruisers lay at anchor, close to the
shore. Up and down the bay, from
the misty horizon between the two
headlands to the quiet water by the
marsh and railway bridge, the trans-
ports stood in three long lines. There
were liners and freighters of all shapes
and sizes from the towering "Lap-
land" and the "Andania" to horse
transports like the "Monmouth" and
ihe "Lakonia." Some like the "Royal
( .eorge" and the "Royal Edward,"
were in their steelgray warpaint.
( )thers, like the "Laurentic," were
having the glittering white of their
upper works painted over. Signals
were winking from the bridges of the
warships and being answered by the
"flag flappers" of each battalion on the
different ships. We stared up and
down the bay, assuring each other
that "this was the biggest lot of ships
that ever crossed the Atlantic together,'
when a hail from below drew our
attention to one of the rough motor
dories which the Gaspe fishermen seem
to like. We forgot all about the
Armada at once. There was a chance
to get off some letters.

For five minutes they fluttered
around the boat like snowflakes. Some
floated away on the tide. The ma-
jority were captured. We cheered the
three fishing lasses as they started the
engine and drew away.

Five hours later we saw the last of
Canada, mountains deep blue on the

CM!.

' ^^a-^^

""^m^.

^£4^

'Camp" goes further and lasts
longer than any other coffee. "Camp"
is delicious and usable to the last drop.
It never goes stale.

You make each cup just
as you want it — simply

adding boiling water.

No dregs or grounds.

Pure— and so economical

Get "Camp " from your grocer, and try it to-day.

R. PATERSON & SONS, LTD.

COFFEE SPECIALISTS,

GLASGOW.

— y-&ii£^,.:f. ■:&iii.Siii^.r.,i^

THE

Canadian Bank of Commerce

HEAD OFFICE

TORONTO

CAPITAL $15,000,000 REST $13,500,000

SIR EDMUND WALKER. C V.O.. LL.D.. DC L.. President

ALEXANDER LAIRD

General Manager

V. C. BROWN, Superintendent of Central Western Branches

JOHN AIRD

Assistant General Manager

BRANCHES THRCUGHOUrT CANADA. AND IN LONDON. ENGLAND. ST. JOHN'S.
NEWFOUNDLAND. THE UNITED STATES AND MEXICO

SAVINGS BANK DEPARTMENT

Accounts can be opened and operated by mail as easily as by a
personal visit to the bank.

horizon against a flaming sunset. Per^
haps half of us stayed up on deck for
a last look at our native land. The
rest went below to play bridge.

For three days after we passed Cape
Race and got fairly out into the long
Atlantic swells, the transports did
more or less corkscrewing. Packages
of seasick remedy were served out to
all hands. The experienced and liardy
members of the force with an eye to
extra meals, did their best to drive
others away from the dinner table by
intimate discussions of all the details of

seasickness. They were disappointed.
The hard work at Valcartier and the
week on board ship in quiet water had
given us all our sea legs, and probably
not more than ten per cent, of the
contingent missed even a single
meal.

Getting enough to eat became a
serious problem before the voyage was
far under way. Stores apparently
had been laid in on calculations based
on the appetites of ordinary passengers.
Muscular young fellows in first class
physical condition are not ordinary

138

CANADA MONTHLY

"THE SPIRIT OF THE WEST"

CANADA

GROWS STRONG MEN AND STURDY CROPS

Plenty of Land — Plenty of Health— Plenty of Opportunity.

Peace and Plenty never forsake the Canadian Farmer!

Accept 160 Acres of Fertile Prairie
and prove it for yourself!

Write for Information to

W. D. SCOTT,
Superintendent of Immigration,
Ottawa, Ont.

OR J. OBED SMITH

Assistant Supt. of Emigration,
11-13 Charing Cross,
London, S. W., England.

passengers, and the salt air made us
all feel that we could eat the regular
meals three or four times over.

The barber shop canteen was bought
out in two days. We advanced on
the other positions previously recon-
noitred, the kitchens and the bakery.
Pies intended for the officers went for
thirty-five cents to fifty cents; buns
at six for a quarter. The chief steward
tried to stop traffic by threatening to
send the cooks down to the stokehold,
and by counting pastry as soon as it
was baked. But all to no purpose.
The "scouts" used to slip down the
passage near the bakery door late at
night after "Lights Out," pop through
a side entrance behind the ovens and
presently emerge with slight bulges
under their great coats.

Another chance for "scouting" came
when fatigue parties were sent down
to the hold to bring up suppHes. The
hold is dark and much useful loot was
stored there. One private in our
company on fatigue, twice got halt a
dozen cakes of chocolate and two
bottles of claret.

The routine of drill was not heavy.
We only had enough to prevent our
getting out of condition and forgetting
what we'd learned at Valcartier.

There was a morning tramp of two
miles round and round the deck with
full packs on. The march was fol-
lowed by stifT physical drill. After-
noon parade consisted of a run around
the deck and instruction in semaphore
signalling. In the evening we had
lectures on outpost duty, on attack
and defence and on measures to avoid
disease.

Drills and lectures occupied at most
four hours a day. In the oflftime,
singing, writing, cards and sky-larldng
were the order of the day. Soldiers
are like overgrown boys in many ways,
especially when they are passing out
of the recruit stage. Accordingh-
there were lockstep processions to the
tune of "It's a Long Way to Tipper-
ary," and impromptu dances in the
moonlight in the first week or so of the
voyage. Later on, these antics were
reserved for the nightly concerts, along
with recitations of "Gunga Din" and
minstrel sextets.

In the e\'enings, e\'erybod\, more or
less, played cards or wrote letters.
A fa\orite plan was a day by day letter
to the family or the one and only. It
was a curious scene — the smoking
room which the men in the ranks had
as their den — in one comer a dozen
men lined up waiting to get ginger
ale; at half the tables, groups betting
loudly over games of euchre and five
hundred ; and at the rest of the tables,
fellows with paper in front of them
and pens in their hands, staring ab-
stractedly at the ceiling through a fog
of pipe smoke.

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CANADA MONTHLY

In spite of the fact that the whole
contingent was hived in thirty-two
transports and that the transports
kept close together, the men on each
ship were as ignorant of what was hap-
pening on the others as if they had
been on the farther side of the ocean.
We did not even know what regiments
were on which ships.

We were in three hnes close together
with a war ship at the head of each
line, a war ship on each fiank and a
war ship out in front and another in
tiie rear. We showed no lights at
night. No boat was permitted to use
its wireless except the Admiral's and
he only used it to overhear anything
that was being said. AH communica-
tion was done by signalling from boat
to boat.

One morning I was sitting in the
smoking cabin on A deck (the top
one) when we heard the siren of our
boat give a number of short blasts.
This was the signal for man overboard.
Naturally we all rushed out and sure
enough there was a man's head bobbing
m the water alongside us. The engines
were reversed and a number of life
preservers thrown.

Of course when we stopped the whole
fleet stopped and there was a certain
amount of danger that some of the
boats would pile up on one another, as
they very nearly did and you may be
sure we weren't at all free from ner-
vousness when we saw the Monmouth
bearing down on us. I understand
our captain didn't use altogether
printable language either. We lowered
a boat, but just before doing so the
man in charge found he was one short,
so called for another. Capt. Hargraft,
of the 90th Regt., Winnipeg, was stand-
ing near and jumped in. They picked
up their man and he had to sit in the
bottom and hold his hand over a hole
(the bung for which had been lost)
while we all were deriving great amuse-
ment under the belief that he was
seasick.

It turned out that he was a sailor
from the Royal Edward, immediately
ahead of us. The only news of the
outside world that filtered in was an
occasional short Marconi bulletin, two
or three hundred words long. And
they contained nothing but very brief
summaries of War news, and such
Items of British interest as that "Lord
So-and-So, for sixty years keeper of the
Royal Shoehorn, died suddenly to-
day." At the date of writing we are
still in ignorance of the winner of the
World's Series.

Twice the monotony of ordinary
drill was relieved by an order that all
hands take a bath.

"Parade with a towel and a smile,"
said the sergeants. So we marched
up on deck in that garb, left the towels
hanging on the rail and marched under

139

Useful
New Invention

Enables Anyone to Play
Pi mo or Organ With-
out Lessons

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This new system which is called the Numeral
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You are not asked to send any money until
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Simply write a letter or post card to the Num-
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a stream of icy sea water from a hose
manipulated by one of the crew. It
was refreshing, if not particularly
cleansing.

For three days near the end of the
journey, sports took the place of drill.
There were three-legged races and
wheelbarrow races and rope climbing
contests and a score of similar events.
Best of all was the obstacle race. Each
competitor, stripped to a shirt, had to
crawl through a canvas chute filled
with coal dust and flour, climbed under
or over several other impediments and
finally negotiate a tangle of ropes while
a hose was played on him at the range
of three yards.

The officers' pillow fighting astride
of spars was another event that

140

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CANADA MONTHLY

ANY BRANDS OF BAKING

POWDER CONTAIN ALUM WHICH
IS AN INJURIOUS ACID. THE IN-
GREDIENTS OF ALUM BAKING
POWDER ARE SELDOM PRINTED
ON THE LABEL. IF THEY
ALUM IS USUALLY
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Hagic

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CONTAINS NO ALUM

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INGREDIENTS
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E, W. GILLETT COMPANY LIMITED
WINNIPEG TORONTO. ONT. MONTREAL.

Write to-day for particulars of my

TREE TRIAL OFFER-

Our '• Gravity " design
gives greatest convenience,
as well as ease of operation
with quick and thorough
work. Do not overlook the
detachable tub feature.

A MAN tried to sell ine a liorse once. He said it was a fine horse and had nothing the
matter with it. I wanted a fine horse, but, I didn't know anything about horses
much And I didn't know the man very well either.

So I told him I wanted to try the horse for a month. He said "All right, but pay
me first, and I'll give you back your money if the horse isn't alright."

Well, I didn't like that, I was afraid the horse wasn't "all right' and that I might
have to whistle for my money if I once parted with it. So I didn't buy the horse,
although I wanted it badly. Now this set me thinking.

You see, I make Washing Machines — the "1900 Gravity" Washer.

And I said to myself, lots of people may think about me and my Washing Ma-
chine as I thought about the horse, and about the man who owned it.

But I'd never know, because they wouldn't write and tell me. You see, I sell my
Washing Machines by mail. I have sold over half a million that way. So, thought I,
it is only fair enough to let people try my Washing Machines for a month, before they
pay for them, just as I wanted to try the horse.

Now, I know what our "1900 Gravity" Washer will do. I know it will wash the
clothes, without wearing or tearing them. In less than half the time they can be
washed by hand or by any other machine.

I know it will wash a tub full of very dirty clothes in Six minutes. I know no
other machine ever invented can do that without wearing
the clothes. Our " 1900 Gravity" Washer does the work so
easy that a child can run it almost as well as a strong woman,
and it don't wear the clothes, fray the edges nor break but-
tons, the way all other machines do.

It juBt drivea eoapy water clear through the fibres of the

Power
Washers

clothes like a force pump might

So said I to myself. I will do with my "1900 Gravity" Washer
" • ■ I'll

what I wanted the man to do with the horse. Only I won't wait for i>eople to ask me.
offer first, and I'll make good the offer every time.

Let me send you a "1900 Gravity" Washer on a MONTH'S FREE TRIAL. I'll pay
the freight out of my own pocket, and if you don't want the machine after you've used
tt a month, I'll take It back and pay the freight too. Surely that is fair enough, isn't it ?

Doesn't It prove that the "1900 Gravity" Washer must be all that I say It is ?

And you can pay me out of what it saves for you. It will save its whole cost in a few
months in wear and tear on the clothes alone And then It will save 50 to 75 cents a week
over that on washwoman's wages. If you keep the machine after the month's trial. I'll
let you pay for It out of what It saves you. If it saves you 60 cents a week send me 50c a
week til! paid for. I'll take that cheerfully, and I'll wait for my money until the machine
Itself earns the balance.

Drop me a line to-day, and let me sen you a book about the "1900 Gravity" Washei
that washes clothes In six minutes. Address me personally,

H. S. MORRIS. MANAGER NINETEEN HUNDRED WASHER Company
Factory — 79-81 Portland Street, TORONTO, Ontario.

If you have elec-
tricity or Gasoline
Power available let
me tell you about
our "1900" Power
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by simply attaching
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the ranks applauded loudly. When
one stern captain received a pillow
full on his rather prominent nose, and
swung headlong off the spar, the cheers
of the men in his company could be
heard for miles.

The evening of the last sports day,
we had an impressive demonstration
of naval power. H. M.S. Queen Mary,
one of the newest and largest ships in
the navy, passed through the convoy.
Stripped of all lumber and in steel-
grey warpaint, the big dreadnought
cruiser was awesomely busine.ss-like.
Above her abnormally long lean hull,
one could see four turrets, each carry-
ing slim black guns, three huge fun-
nels, and a high bridge. She slipped
through the swells with scarcely a
movement. The big liners, towering
in the air, looked slow and unwieldy
beside this swift sea snake. And about
all that any of us could say was, "God,
what a ship !" With craft like this
to keep the seas, one could understand
why the North Atlantic is a British
pond, and why our trip across the
ocean was without disturbing inci-
dent.

To Say Him
Good-bye

Continued from page 96.

into the current below. On both sides
of the run-a-way river gangs of men
worked feverishly, building break-
waters to keep the current from eating
further into the roadbed. A huge
tree fell into place as they stood, its
bushy top reaching far out from the
bank like a miniature forest. A gang
of trackmen passed them having left
their lorry at the edge of the danger
area, and fell into work. Across the
gap another lorry approached, was
stopped and lifted from the track, and
the men came forward carrA'ing axes
and poles. McNaughton noticed that
they were supplemented by lumber-
men from the camp up the river.

At the very end of the long steel-
ribboned track a pufT of smoke showed
dimly in the haze of sunrise. Mrs.
Maloney watched it for a moment,
then turned toward her companions
with a question.

"An' what would that be over
there, sor ?"

"Probably a work train, from Swan
River coming down with ballast," he
said. "She's made a record trip all
right."

"An' will she be goin' back ?"
"WTien the cars are unloaded, yes."
"An' is it Subdruy it do be goin' to?"
"No, Mrs. Maloney, only back as
far as Swan River."

"An' where would that be ?"
"About twenty miles further on."

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' 'Twenty miles nearer Sudbruy thin , ' '
she said wistfully. "If we were only
acrost we'd be goin' on her that far."

"You couldn't ride on a work-train,
mother."

"I think they'd be takin' me if I
told them about Jimmy, if only I could
get acrost."

"That's a very great 'if at present,
Mrs. Maloney."

"This thrack, now," she glanced
across the shining line of steel which
bridged the chasm, "I'm that light —
shure Jimmy could carry me undher
his arm."

McNaughton whirled on her in
amazement.

"Mrs. Maloney," he cried, "don't
think of such a thing ! There are
gaps out there you could never jump
across; and even your weight might
loosen any one of those ties and send
it down into the river — you with it.
Besides, it would give and sway with
your weight and motion. It would
take a very quick and level-headed
man for a thing like that. It would be
absolutely impossible for — for you."

"I suppose so, an ould body like
me," she answered, "but I feel that
certain I could do it !"

McNaughton found her a seat near
some other of the passengers. A
moment later he was called away to
give advice regarding the placing of
the impromptu retaining wall.

"I will come back again in a little
while, Mrs. Maloney," he promised.
"You'll be comfortable, won't you ?"

"Shure an' I will that. I'll just
bide here till you come -back, forbye
the raft goes before then."

A man near turned toward her
curiously. "They won't make a
raft," he said, "not till the line's pro-
tected, and probably not then. Most
people'llfgo back with our train to
Lancelot, and they'll get a track across
here by night."

"There'll be a boat to take me
across," she insisted anxiously, "I'm
Jimmy Maloney 's mother, an' I've
got to get seein' him when the throop-
train gets into Sudbruy. Don't ye
think there will, sor ?"

"Maybe so, maybe so," the man
answered, "but if I were you I'd go
back with this train and go to Val-
cartier."

Mrs. Maloney said nothing. She
sat with wistful eyes on the puffing
work-train just across that stretch of
muddy water, and on the shining rails
that glinted and beckoned to her to
follow their luring path. Perhaps the
man was right about the raft. ;. Per-
haps Jimmy's train would come, and
go, 'and so she would not see him.
Perhaps, oh, perhaps, she would never
see him again. And he would go
without all the precious things in the
basket, without ever knowing how
she had loved and worked for him.

141

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And she would go back to the miser-
able little cottage at Keppel Comers,
where there was not even the "bit
pig" to squeal a welcome, — -go back
and unpack the things that were
Jimmy's, and he'd never know — per-
haps he'd never know!

She stood up uncertainly, taking a
hesitating step toward the track. The
watchman set to guard it had dis-
appeared ; there were few people about
now; most of them had gone back
to Kepanegan in the hope of break-

142

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CANADA MONTHLY

fast. She moved slowly to the crumb-
ling edge. Did she dare to go ?
The work-train was still standing in
its place. Car after car had been
unloaded. It might pull out any
minute — now, while she watched — and
her last chance to see Jimmy would
go out with it. She must go quickly.
Dared she go ? Her heart beat, chok-
ing, in her throat and the hand that
clutched the basket trembled. Her
knees shook under her so that she
could hardly stand.

"Shure I'm that wake," she whis-
pered, "I'll be fallin'."

"The work-train gave a warning
whistle and she started desperately
forward. Before her the morning sun-
shine fell white and dazzling on the
shining steel. She saw the little glit-
tering shimmer of light on the poplar
leaves and the stir of workmen across
the gap. Then everything went into
a misty golden blur that was like the
smoke of battle, and in it she saw —
not the big, strong son whom she was
going to meet — but a little blue-eyed,
curly-headed lad that twelve years
before had been "the widow Maloney's
Jimmy."

She was out four or five steps (four
or five ties) from the edge of the chasm.
Under her weight a tie went down.
She stumbled, saved herself, panic-
stricken, but still clutching the precious
basket.

"Dear God," she prayed, "help a
poor ould body like me. Help poor
ould Annie Maloney all by her lone."

She said it over and over; its
repetition someway helped her. The
mist cleared from before her eyes.
She recognized that the ties, bolted
as they were to the rails and sleepers,
were bearing her weight. She had a
strange elate confidence. They were
shouting to her now from the bank,
but she did not listen. Her eyes never
left the ties, watching for safe footing.
More than once a tie had dropped.
In one place two, but she had ceased
to be afraid.

"They shall bear thee up in their
hands." — "They shall bear thee up in
their hands." — "Dear God, help an ould
body. Help poor ould Annie Maloney."
— "Bear thee up in their hands." —
"Bear thee up in their hands."

Once she stumbled and fell, but
was up and on again while the crowd
gathered at either end still held their
breath. How far it was ! What
miles and miles ! — "Bear thee up in
their hands. "^ — The end must be near,
but she dared not look. — "Oh God,
help poor ould Annie Maloney." —
What ! Sand ! Ballast ! The land
again ! Breaking in on the music of
her promise, "Bear thee up — " came
the ringing 'Rah ! 'Rah ! 'Rah ! of the
men. She grew suddenly faint and
sick, and a man put his arms around

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her and laid her gently down on the
track.

She woke because they were trying
to take her basket.

"Lave it be," she said sternly, " 'tis
for Jimmy." Then, struggling to a
sitting posture, "The thrain, its niver
gone ?"

"Here yet. Just getting ready to
back away."

She rose unsteadily to her feet.

CANADA MONTHLY

143

"Shure I'm goin' on it," she said.
"That's why I come. I've just got
to see Jimmy at Sudbruy. He's goin'
for a soldier," she explained, "I^must
say him good-bye." »f-

Ten minutes later she was sitting
in the caboose of the work-train. She
leaned out toward the group of work-
men who stood below the little win-
dow.

"When yez get acrost to the other
side," she said, "will yez be good
enough to say to Misther McNaughton
— he's a big up-standin' man an' looks
a bit like my Jimmy — say til him I
was that ashamed, comin' off without
so much as a thank ye, an' tell him
they say there's a thrain goin' up to
Sudbruy from Swan River, as '11 get
there forninst the throop-train comes.
Good-bye."

The engine puffed wamingly. From
both banks men swung their hats and
shouted and the train was off.

The Jade Earring

Continued from page 120.
apparently found it satisfactory," said I.

The doctor laughed. "Satisfactory
isn't precisely the word I should use,"
said he. "It doesn't cover the ground
at all. In fact, the portrait was so
vivid and poignant a reminder of Claire
herself that the sight of it, the day when
she came here to the studio, upset her
dreadfully. She looks forward to get-
ting final possession of it with a mix-
ture of anxiety and dread. In fact, the
memory of it has possessed her imagi-
nation ever since in a way that I, as
her physician, am forced to regret."

"The portrait, then," said I, "is
more like the original than the photo-
graph from which it was painted ?"

The doctor nodded. "Strikingly
so," said he.

Again I had to draw in a long, slow
breath to steady myself. But when I
had done that I managed to say, indif-
ferently enough: "Oh, well, the ways
of genius are past finding out. Mr.
Jeffrey's genius as a portrait-painter
seems to lie in getting beneath the sur-
faces of things and presenting the living
reality.

"If he can do that with a living face,
which is often inexpressive enough to
the ordinary eye of the character be-
neath it, it is not so wonderful that he
should do it, to a less extent, of course,
with a momentary record of a face as
it appears in a photograph. It's a
\ great test of his powers, though, and a
wonderful compliment to them."

The doctor nodded thoughtfully, and
there was a little silence before he spoke
again.

"Mr. Jeffrey lived in Paris for some
time, didn't he ?"

"Oh, years ago," said I. "Long
before I knew him. Of course, like

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every painter, he goes back occasion-
ally or visits."

"I suppose he's been back there
within the last four or five years ?"

"Oh, yes," said I.

The doctor let another moment go
by in silence.

"I am going to be frank with you,"
he said at last, "and I hope you will be
frank with me. I hope what I have
already told you of my relation with
Miss Meredith is enough to clear me
of the charge of idle curiosity. Miss

Meredith is far from a well woman.
She has had the idea, ever since she
came here to look at Mr. Jeffrey's por-
trait of her niece, that that portrait
wasn't painted exclusively from the
photograph. Mr. Jeffrey must have
seen and remembered the girl herself.
And nothing would satisfy her short of
my coming to ask Mr. Jeffrey if that
had been the case."

"I'm sure," said I, "that Jeffrey will
be glad to go to see her and set her
mind at rest in the matter."

144

CANADA MONTHLY

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With all the man's easy frankness —
his almost unnecessary frankness — I
f oiild not be rid of the feeling that there
was something wary about him, watch-
ful, alert. I had had that feeling
through the whole of our interview.
.\nd with his reception of these last
words of mine, it grew tenfold stronger.

"That won't be nercs^ary," said |ic.
"I'm afraid it wouldn't be advisable.
She receives no visitors at all. In her
present condition she is not able to re-
ceiw ilicm. But, if you know anything
about il, one way or another, I wish
3ou'd tell me. If you don't you can
ask Jeffrey, when you see him, and
drop me a h'ne."

"I could say this much," said !•
"that I am quite sure if Jeffrey had
been painting from the memory of any
living face he had ever seen, he would
have told me so. He hasn't told me
so, and therefore I conclude that Miss
Meredith is mistaken. Surely the mis-
take is natural enough to one in her
condition."

"Oh, yes. Of cojrse. Of our<c "
he said without much conviction in ;
voice. "It strikes me as possiljli
though," he went on, "that he miglii
have met her on one of his visits i.i
Paris, while she was living there, ( r
have seen her and been struck by hti
appearance without learning her name.
I haven't seen her since she was a little
girl, but I am told she grew into a very
beautiful woman. So that a memory
of her might hav-e been evoked by the
photograph, and could easily have had
an effect on the portrait without his
knowing it."

"That's ingenious at any rate," said
I, "and almost plausible. How long
had Miss Claire Meredith Iieen living
in Paris when she died of smallpox ?"

"Not quite two years," said the
doctor.

"Then I'm afraid that disposes of
the theory Jeffrey was living with
me in an apartment on Madison Square
all that time, and I know he didn't
leave the country."

There was a little pause.

"He did go to Paris two years ago,
didn't he ?" The doctor said it very
indifferently, so that it hardly sounded
like a question at all. But all the
same, he waited for an answer — waited,
I'd almost have sworn, a little breath-
lessly.

"Oh, \'es," said I. "My wife and I
visited him there. But that, if my
dates are right, was a year after the
young lady died."

"Oh, yes," he said quickly. "I
wasn't thinking of that."

But he had been thinking of just
that, I felt sure. And unless my im-
agination was working overtime, he
was paler than he had been when he
came in.

To he continued.

VOL. XVII.
NO. 3

»CCiEPi"MiiiiiniHimniiimiiiiMiniiiiiiiiiiimMiiiiiiBiaHiw^^^

CANADA
MONTHLY

■luuiiniiiiiuiiiiiw

LONDON

JAN.

mnouum

What Does Uncle Sam Say ?

By Zenas E. Black

THE elevator shuddered, slowed up and stopped at
the fourteenth floor. My friend and I stepped out
and walked down the hall of one of Chicago's great
sky-scrapers. Just as we turned the corner a door, on
which was lettered "LAW OFFICE," opened and a strong-
faced, grey-mustached man started hurriedly toward the
elevator shaft. In passing us he recognized my friend with
a wave of the hand, a smile, and this:

"Great news we had this morning, wasn't it ?"
"You bet 1" my companion responded.
After we were ensconced in comfortable chairs in his
office a few minutes later, he took his cigar from his mouth,
viewed the smoke meditatively for a moment, then said :
"Did you get what that man meant just now ?"
"I suppose he was speaking of the news that the German
advance on Paris has been stopped," was my response.

"But you don't get the full weight of it. I never spoke
a dozen words to him in my life. How should he know
that I, a casual acquaintance, would consider it good news ?
This set me to thinking. He continued :
"Here's another angle. You took his pro-Ally state-
ment as a matter of course. Yet he is a typical American
citizen, and you're a Canadian down here making explo-
rations in the American heart to see whether it is beating
for the King or the Kaiser. Don't you see ? He took it
for granted that / was for the Allies just as you took it for
granted that he would be for the Allies. Do you get that ?"

I GOT it. I saw that what my friend was trying to tell
me was that every normal citizen of North America
assumes that his neighbor is normal, and naturally,
therefore, on the side of the Allies. It was a big thought.

Then I set out to see if this premise, furnished by Mr.
Average-American-Citizen-at-Random, was sound. I knew
it applied at home. Would it hold true throughout the
land of our neighbors, nationally declared "Neutral ?"

After a comprehensive and conscientious investigation,
taking it "by and large," as the writers put it, and laying
one's hand flat on the map of the United States, I may
truthfully say: "When England joined France and Russia
n the war against Germany and Austria, the sentiment of
the people of the United States went strongly for the
(Triple Entente, and that sentiment is becoming more
pronounced every day that the war continues."

The Kaiser is unhappy over the position Uncle Sam
lias taken. The German press is frankly disgusted. Says
the Berlin Deutsche Tages Zeitung: "It seems to be be-
leath our dignity to go on appearing before the United
States in the attitude of one who thinks that he must
i"^tify himself. . . We ask ourselves what is the sense
all, and whether there is not a point to which we, in

our position, attacked on all sides, should regard it as a
duty of self-esteem to adopt an attitude that if a people
do not believe our words and deeds we will refrain from
perpetual repetition of our words."

An American paragrapher, commenting on the above,
was surprised that Germany had any "self-esteem" left.

BUT Germany continues to work with might and main
that Uncle Sam may yet "see the light." Hardly a
day passes that the editors of every influential news-
paper and magazine in the United States are not besieged
by Germans who would sway their opinions. Not long
ago the German Government, influenced by reports of
the anti-German attitude of the American press, sent a
statesman of the first rank to present to America "the
truth as it appears to German eyes."

A German professor. Dr. Ernst Daenell, in an article
translated for the New York Sun, feels that "the heroic
war Germany has been forced to wage will appeal strongly
to the kindly instincts inherent in the American character,
for in many ways the two countries are very much alike."

The American press, remembering Louvain, did not
feel flattered by the comparison.

And don't forget this:— The American press is the
American people.

My investigations throughout the United States to
determine editorial sentiment have brought me to the
conclusion that the Eastern and Southern parts of the
United States are almost solidly pro-Ally; that the West
contains a scattering of pro-German editors but is mainly
pro-Ally or neutral; and that in the Central states, while
there are more pro-Ally than pro-German papers, the
majority of the publications are neutral.

One familiar with the United States will perceive
that pro-German sympathy follows pretty closely the
geographical distribution of the . German-American popu-
lation The Central -West prairie states contain the
bulk of Uncle Sam's ten million kraut-eating children.
In one decade the "Fatherland" sent a million emigrants
to the United States. But dp not get the opinion that
one person in every ten in this country is pro-German,
because he is of Teutonic lineage. Just as it is here in
Canada, only those who were born and educated in Ger-
many are rabidly and unalterably anti-Ally — and not
quite all of them.

The Boston Transcript, however, says that "Anyone
who has traveled in the Central-West must have been
struck by the less thorough and often baldly inadequate
statement of the war's issues and causes, particularly by
the newspapers in the smaller cities. Their readers have
not demanded the elaborate discussion and full statement

I5S

154

r)f all possible original sources which
the East has craved. The East has
done a great deal of thinking, and this
accounts for the preponderant weight
of sentiment against the German cause
in our section."

The above would seem to be true
in a measure, since Central-Western
editors are rapidly deserting, the ranks
of the neutrals for the pro-Allies.
Their readers have been aroused by
the treatment of Belgium. They are
writing letters to the " People's Column"
of their favorite papers, and this work
is bearing fruit. Rest assured that
the newspapers of the United States
never hold out strongly against the
wishes of their constituents. The cir-
culation department managers see to
that.

A paper in Denver says: "\ye are
all striving to live up to the President's
neutrality proclamation." The word
"striving" is well chosen. The natural
sentiment of the unprejudiced Ameri-
can editor is to come out strongly and
emphatically for the Allies' cause,
and to refrain from this requires
palpable effort.

In feeling the pulse of the American
press, one should consider the Saturday
Evening Post first of all. One person
out of every ten reads it, and even
here in Canada it has a circulation of
perhaps 100,000. For a long time
Samuel G. Blythe was the Post's lead-
ing humorist. Along came Irvin S.
Cobb, and Post readers began to laugh
in parts of their anatomy that Blythe
had never discovered. When Blythe
was commissioned to write war' stufif
he saw a chance to re-attract attention
by such statements as: "Kitchener
must supply an army that will be of
sufficient consequence to give England
her part of the spoils when the time
comes for the peace settlement — that
is, England must have her share of
chips in the game if she would partake
of the pot;" and that the war was
caused by the "trade rivalry of Ger-
many and Great Britain," and insinu-
ating that one was just as bad -as the
other.

You know how kindly we took to
those statements. One of our papers
said: "It may be necessary for the
Post to explain that Blythe, the writer
who has offended Canadian readers,
is a humorist. Then it would be
necessary to prove it."

I found that many Americans did
not like Mr. Blythe's war vaporizings.
One well-known New York editor
said to me ; "If your readers in
Canada would understand Blythe,
let them turn to G. Bernard Shaw, of
whom Mr. Blythe is a tenth, or per-
haps a hundredth carbon copy. Such
persons fill their proper niche in times
of peace, I suppose, but when war's

CANADA MONTHLY

seriousness comes — let us pass on to
the next paragraph !"

That the Post, editorially, does not
endorse Blythe's written opinion may be
gathered from this paragraph in the
issue of October thirty-first: "That
the Kaiser could have prevented this
war if he had been whole-heartedly
devoted to peace seems to us quite
clear from the published diplomatic
correspondence; but we have never
stated that view to a citizen of German
descent without being accused of Eng-
lish bias."

Then hei;e is another of their edi-
torials, under the caption, "THE WAR
CULT": "Nietzsche wrote: 'You
have been taught that a good cause
justifies even war; but I teach that a
good war justifies any cause.' To a
world that is Christian in feeling —
wherever theological speculation may
lead its thought — that was an amusing
paradox, which would have provoked
a laugh if spoken by a character in a
Shaw play; but Prussianism has pro-
duced a type of mind that takes it in
deadly earnest. No doubt search of
other contemporaneous literature
would reveal some incidental and un-
representative glorification of war for
its own sake; but in contemporaneous
Prussian literature such glorification
has been expressed with much emphasis
and the beastly notion that fighting
is mankind's highest interest is essen-
tially a Prussian militarist cult. To
suppose that it broadly represents
German thought is, of course, absurd;
but the sanction this war cult has
received in military circles there un-
doubtedly counted with many in deter-
mining American sympathies in the
present war. Our pantheon has no
niche for Krupp."

The italics are mine. Don't you
think that America's strongest weekly
pubHcation has voiced our sentiments,
as well as its own ? Doesn't this bear
out what Mr. Average-American-Citi-
zen-at-Random said ?

"Life" shows its serious side in this
editorial: "A man who returned a
book by Nietzsche to the Public
Library remarked as he passed it in:
'This doesn't get under my skin.'
The remark applies to the efforts of
the German apologists in this country.
Some of these gentlemen have done
better than others, but none of them
has got under the American skin. . .
A good many of us think with sym-
pathy of Germany's yearning for good
colonial possessions, where Germans
may develop as Germans and the Ger-
man language will not have to yield
to English, but while we sympathize
with it, in a way, we are not ready to
help break up and make over the
various continents in order to further
it. . . . No doubt we understand

and like the English civilization bettei
than the German because it is basec
in democracy and is more like oui
own. . . Nobody seems able tt

endure German rule but Germans
They can stand the German methoc
when they have to. Other peoples
hate it, and even Germans, once they
have escaped it, stay away."

One guess as to how this famous
editor stands — Norman Hapgood o\
Harper's Weekly: — "This war wil
be won as much by the business sound'
ness of Great Britain as by any othei
cause. . . . Why did the British
Empire not fall to pieces, as Germany
hoped, when the war broke out ? Be
cause it was not based primarily or,
force. The idea of individual liberf
and local autonomy had been nourishc
throughout it as in no other grea-
empire that ever existed. Canad.
and Australia are as free as the Unitei
States. Even in South Africa, clost
to German territory, related in blooc
and language to Germany, easily re-
membering a bitter war with England
apparently not many were found tc
rebel. . . . Bemhardi's motto is
'World power or downfall.' England's
power was gained through long cen-
turies of trade and exploration, and
kept because, more at least than othei
empires, she stood not for dominatior
but for self-government."

In the same issue Mr. Hapgood
remarks: "Frederick the Great said
'Any war is a good war undertaken tc
increase the power of the state.' The
world is now paying a bitter price tc
prove that Frederick and von Treit-
zsche and von Moltke were expressing
a doctrine that must die. It was ar
even greater than von Moltke— Gusta-
vus Adolphus — who said: 'The devil
is very near at hand for those who are
accountable to none but God foi
their actions.' "

Further down on the page these
pithy paragraphs stand alone:

"According to St. James: Ye desire
to have and cannot obtain; thereiore
ye fight and war and kill."

"According to the Psalms: God will
scatter the peoples that delight in
war."

Americans understood the serrnor
and its application from simply seeing
the text.

But it is impossible to quote from
all, or even from many of the leading
magazines and newspapers. Suffice to
say, America is now studying Germany,
and the more she learns the less she
likes her. From Plainview, Texas, to
Portland, Maine, the press is dissect-
ing Prussianism for its readers. But
Americans don't do their thinking alto-
gether vicariously. M. stands for
Militarism. A number of librarians
told me that their patrons kept the

CANADA MONTHLY

155

M shelf empty. Usually Uncle Sam
maintains regular office hours and his
wife attends to her knitting. But now
even the business visitor will be drawn
into a discussion of war upon the
slightest pretext, and at the women's
clubs Germany is investigated instead
of eugenics.

Imagine that you are in an American
home, just as I have been. You will
find things much the same as here in
Canada: It is night. The cat has
been put out and the children tucked
in bed. Mr. Sam is reading a few
last bits ol editorial opinion to his
wife before retiring: "This is a world
struggle between the demon of force
and the spirit of freedom, between a
highly organized militaristic servitude
and democracy, free speech, self-
government, justice and human ad-
vancement. ... In Germany
nearly 700 books per year have been
published dealing with war as a science.
In England and the United States
people read: Blessed are the peace-
makers: for they shall be called the
children of God. But in Germany the
soul and body of the nation have been
drilled for offensive and defensive war-
fare to wipe out effete civilization and
give the world the blessings of Ger-
manic culture at the point of the sword
and the mouth of the cannon."

"If that is a true statement of Ger-
man sentiment, the German people
deserve all they will get," declares Mr.
Sam, rapping on the table with his
pipe.

"It surely doesn't sound Christian-
like," assents Mrs. Sam. "Let's hear
what the Germans themselves say,"
continues the head of the house, and he
picks up "Germany and the Next
Great War," by Bemhardi (borrowed
that day from the public library) and
reads: "War is a biological necessity
of the first importance, a regulative
element in the life of mankind, which
cannot be dispensed with, since with-
out it unhealthy development will fol-
low which excludes every advance-
ment of the race and therefore all real

civilization "

"The very idea !" Mrs. Sam inter-
polates.

"The law of the strongest holds good
everywhere. In all times the right ot
conquest by war has been admitted.
It may be that a growing people can-
not win colonies from uncivilized races,
and yet the State wishes to retain the
surplus pKjpulation which the mother
country can no longer feed. Then the
only course left is to acquire the
necessary territory by war. It is not
the possessor but the victor who then
has the right. Might is at once the
supreme right, and the dispute as to
what is right is decided by the arbitra-
ment of war. War gives a biologically
Continued on page 193.

The LIVE COWARD

By WILL INGERSOLL

Drawings by Frederic M. Grant

DAWNEY (as Dawson Jen-
kins had dubbed himself
in the epicene days when
he wore skirts and curls, without
foresight that the name 'would leech
to him when he grew of an age
to have a contempt for pet names
and even when he grew past that age
and began to fondle his upper lip an-
ticipatively) had from his youth up-
ward been a Napoleon of the prairie.
His paternal home was on a bald
crown of hill tonsured of poplar woods,
up the face of which the wormwood
showed gray and the dandelions dawn-
ed yellow, like the little suns they were,
out of the gloom of grass. That hill
was a place for a Napoleon to be born
uppn and a Byron to sing about — for
it was the Mount Everest of the whole
knolly countryside. The heart beats
lordliest on the loftiest hilltop.

For all that he was British-born and
by lineage a United Empire Loyalist,
Dawney's heart pained him un-
patriotically when he read of Waterloo.
He could not help the feeling that if
he had been there, he would have fought
for Napoleon, and that in that event
and with that reenforcement, Napoleon
would have won. It must however in
justice be said that Dawney forgot
wholly the fact that Britons must be
defeated if Napoleon was to win. The
Emperor's triumph was the single
point he considered. It was not
"Down with the British," but "Vive
I'Empereur."

It was with a vast regret that Daw-
ney, poring over his history in the lee
of seasonable haystack or grain-stock,
reflected that all the worlds had been
conquered and irrevocably parcelled

out to the various peoples (each
of whom, it seemed, was ignobly
content with the allotted portion)
before he was bom. He was not
quite sure that he would like to
have been contemporaneous with
Hannibal ; for in that event he would
by now have been 'feo long extinct that
he would be nothing more than an
ineffectual pinch of the amalgamated
dust of ants and heroes. But he
wished he had been bom in time for
a real war.

The South African War had caught
him too young. Anyway, it had been
only a skirmish. Kipling, the Jove of
poets, had handed it nothing but
gibes — and if any living man knew a
war when he saw one, Kipling did.

Moreover, the Britain of Dawney's
time was a Britain from which came
the "dam' Englishmen" Dawney as a
sturdy western Canadian of broad
"a's" had learned to regard with
curiosity and contempt. Surely these
phenomena in leather gaiters and knee-
breeches that flared at the hip, who
did not know a plow from a harrow
and who called the young of cattle
"cawves" instead of "caavs" were not
the same as those that had followed
Drake to the Spanish Main or gone
with Richard Lionheart to the Crusades.
He could not imagine these fellows, who
had to go up into the roofs of their
mouths to find "a" and who could
not say "r" at all, it appeared, ripping
out the rude, strong archaisms of
"The Talisman" or "Westward Ho !"
No, Dawney had been born too late.
He had arrived at nineteen in a period
of most annoying peace, a time suave
and sapient, an era deplorably civilized.

156

War, glorious war, was fallen on evil
times. Armaments were ornamental
only, and military service but a tire-
some form of physical culture. It was
now more honorable far to be wealthy
than to be brave. Even the Indians
were coming around to this view. A
sight that epitomized the age's decad-
ence was that of old Sioux Ben, a
mighty man of Sitting Bull's day,
visiting the Oakbum schoolhouse in a
battered Christy stiff, and advising
the scholars to study hard in order
that they might "make plenty money" ;
telling them fighting was "no good."

CANADA MONTHLY

place o' hammerin' away with that
stick. I want them willows moved
anyway, so's I can plow there."

Armed with this authority and a
scrub-axe (a deadly tool of aggression
not mentioned in the league ordin-
ances), Dawney during the next two
weeks led his poplar Zouaves against
the willow phalanxes with amazing
success. At the end of that time,
there was not a willow, even a strag-
gler, left; and presently Jim Dover,
the hired man, drove his ploughshare
along that hill, effacing even their
memory. "Never," in the words of

mission, left the f>oplars to the black-
birds and woodpeckers, and only went
to battle in dreams. The time had
come now, too, when the exigencies of
the ploughshare and pruning-hook
claimed Dawney for fourteen hours of
the day. The change from command-
ing an army to hauling boulders off
the land in a stoneboat might have
been intolerable, if summer had lasted
all the year round.

All through seeding, summer-fallow-
ing, haying and harvest, Dawney threw
his expectation forward to the rare
days of late October when he should

@ ^ m

No good ! This from him who had
been Chief Ben Sun-Cloud, aforetime
begirt and even kilted with scalps.
Alas ! his sun had set with Sitting
Bull.

Dawney came of a fighting stock.
His father had, at the time of the
South African War, been too busy
with his growing family and his adoles-
cent mortgage to go with the Can-
adian contingent; but in his younger
days he had reached out after the only
thing handy that any way resembled
war, and had gone to fight the half-
breeds in '85: coming home with a
stiff arm and a big white ligature
around his forehead. Dawney had
had no such opportunity; but all the
same he had been a field-marshal at
ten. There was a [;rove of several
thousand stalwart young poplars down
on one side of the road-allowance, and
a horde of crooked Huns of willows
facing it on the other side; and the
times had been not few nor languid
when Dawney, charging acrosss the
sixty grassy feet with his teeth gritted
and his hat set fiercely back, led his
poplar Old Guard against those wil-
lows; without much effect however,
until the day when Dawson Jenkins,
Senior, happening along in the heat
of the fight, had enquired casually:
"Whyn't you take the axe to 'em, son,

m m ■■ m

• You heard me right the first time." observed Dawney. "What't the use of

a fellow eoing to this war and gettin' killed —

or all crippled up.!"

the historian, "was a victory
more complete or more decisive."
The poplars (safe because they
were in the field reserved for a
pasture; this is confided to
you aside), tall and calmly militant,
maintained their position trium-
phantly but not in any way by
power of awe; for even the scary
calves that hoisted their tails and
scampered at human approach, lay
down without misgiving in the grass
before this grove and endured without
apprehension to have sun-patterns
stippled on their hides by the points of
light that fell through the leafy umbra.
Nay, more; in that kind and tranquil
boscage little birds were brooded and
bom, and in it the harried prairie
chicken sought shelter and fortalice
when the September hunters were
abroad with license to do grousicide.
Partly because the army of the wil-
lows was subjugated and the position
they had held amply guarded against
insurrection of a few live roots under-
soil by the energetic agrarian measures
of Jim Dover ; and partly because the
onward march of maturity made this
sylvan warfare take on an aspect of
vanity in the eyes of Dawson Napo-
leon Jenkins: he resigned his com-

dig up his history-books and renew
acquaintance with Hannibal, Julius
Caesar, Hereward-the-Wake, Richard
Lionheart, Charles XII. and Napo-
leon. Then, besides, he had his Byron
and his Kipling.

Each of the first six gentlemen
deceased played their part in Dawney's
development; and Byron helped him
to see earth's, conquerors in fine per-
spective. But it was really Kipling —
and thereby hangs my Tale — who
helped Da\vney to his first true vision
of War. And I might add that this
happened in the spring of eventful
1914.

Kipling is, as everybody knows, a
bit technical; and it was a difficult
and stumbling journey for Dawney,
an untravelled farm boy, when he
essayed doughtily to traverse the
"Seven Seas." It was not until IMarch
29, 1914, that he mastered the book
sufficiently to start "making pictures"
in his mind as he read.

One is forced to be precise about the
date; for it was on that day, a Sunday,
that Dawney lighted upon a passage
which changed utterly his thrilling
abstract view of war. Dawney, always
a thoughtful lad and as an only child
thrown more upon his mental resources

CANADA MONTHLY

157

than if he had had a brother or sister,
had developed his imagination until
he could visualize like a camera.
Armed with this faculty, he suddenly
encountered this passage:

"..'Ere's a beggar with a bullet

through 'is spleen;
'E's a-chawin' up the ground an' he's

kickin' all around. . .
For Gawd's sake get the water. ."

Dawney closed the book: and im-
mediately the picture was snapshotted
in his mind. It was not that of a
victorious general — a Napoleon on

had then, during the brief period be-
tween the first and second shot, bitten
and flung up the sod as he howled and
rolled at the end of his chain. This
helped Dawney, if any help was needed,
to see still more accurately the vision
of the stricken man of war.

The picture conjured up by the
strong apt lines from "Gunga Din"
never left Dawney, at least never be-
yond easy recall, all summer. He
returned again gingerly to the book
at odd times during the comparatively
unhurried season of summer-fallowing,
and found other passages, little puis-

teens, while Dawney had yearned and
chafed for war, the world had imper-
turbably continued to discourage and
even make absurd the expectation of
war, at least of a war in which an
inveterate warrior could take an
interest. But now — now when he had
attained to a viewpoint where peace
and war had wholly changed per-
spectives — when he had come to see
War not as a triumphal march, a
glorious martial pageant, a clash of
nations afar ofT in which one grand
leader, moving eminent against mighty
odds, held him worshipful ; but as "a

"Nevertheless," said Herr Friesen, turning back his cufis from great

hairy wrists scarred with fencing wound-:, "you shall

now fight me the British way"

horseback at Eylau, sweeping a grand
line of charging cuirassiers with eagle
eye- — a Ney, his dress "ragged with
bullets" which apparently confined
their damage to his clothes — a Hora-
tius for whom an Astur obligingly
waited while he leaned on Herminius
to get his wind. No. The picture
Dawney saw was that of a man, his
face gray and writhen with agony and
grimed with the dirt in which he had
rolled and actually sunk his teeth in his
terrible, maddening pain, while in the
front of his tunic a spreading stain
swiftly brightened from maroon to
red. Dawney actually felt a kind of
spasm in the corresponding region in
his own body — so vividly did the scene
appear to him. This w^s real war.
The wars of which he had dreamed
were pantomimic — or at least that
was the only aspect of them that
history, which treats of armies in the
mass, had permitted him to see.

Once Dawney's father had shot a
collie they owned, which had formed
the habit of chasing and slaughtering
the hens. He remembered that the
dog had jumped at the cHck of the
trigger, so that the charge of buck-
shot, although it went right through
him, missed his heart by a little; and

sant words freighted with im-
ages — notably one, mentioning
how "the hugly bullets comes
peckin' through the dust, an' no
one wants to face 'em but every
beggar must" — but none that for
luminosity approached the grim stanza
in "Gunga Din."

In the fierce light of that expert, even
his comfortably prevalent Napoleon
shrank behind a veil of blood and pain.
Dawney's crystal of war was cracked
worse than the Lady of Shalott's mir-
ror. Little by little a change crept
over him. The world peace beneath
which he had fidgeted in the careless
rapt days when he had stood adorant
before the Baal of war grew by fair
gradations to seem so halcyon, so
utterly right; so founded, owned and
directly overseen by the Lord of Hosts
Himself. Dawney put his hand to the
plough with a new zest, a. new appre-
ciation of the existing order of things;
and in mid-July entered upon the year
of his majority as a man gets out of
bed on a serene Sunday morning with
all discomposure and discontent walled
up behind eight hours of healthy effac-
ing sleep.

Assuredly, the things of the world go
captiously. All through his tens and

man rolling and sweating in the death-
agony with a bullet in his vitals — now
and without preface or preparation,
there came suddenly reverberant
across great waters the din (it seemed
to the reborn Dawney no harmony
now) of a whole continent — the great-
est too and sanest of all the contingents
in mortal combat !

Historic wars ! Why, even the
Napoleonic struggle, with all the native
exaggeration of man working over
three generations in song and story to
magnify it, shrank and dwindled into
minority in face of this terrific War
of Dawney's own cognizant day.

The war came in with August; and
before the month had well begun, its
gravest potentialities ripened into the
actual, till even in Dawney's tranquil
settlement had been borne the message
of the Fiery Cross. Canada, to whose
people long peace had made the term
"war" almost an abstraction, was now
with the rest of the Empire in "a state
of war;" and the Man at Ottawa, a
fire-breather even in the country's
era of concord, had talked inflamingly
of a contingent.

The farmer, especially the western
farmer, is the least nomadic man
beneath the sun. Whatever a man
may have been before, he becomes,
when he puts his hand to the plow in

158

all aspects a settler. Even the sailor,
most chronic rover of all, forgets the
sea and the white cities of his youthful
far faring when he turns tiller of the
soil ; the west is full of old salts turned
hayseed and bond forever by their
own choice and liking to the furrow
and the wain. It is perhaps a con-
sistent and natural ordinance that the
farmer is your truest home-maker.

The world of the boy born on a farm
is hence circumscribed by the pastoral
hills, the wheatfields and the hay-
meadows; and the edge of his earth is
rarely at utmost a half-day's pony-ride
from his own roof-tree. Most farm-
boys are satisfied, too, to let the "away"
remain unexplored and unkenned

CANADA MONTHLY

even, except through the rude un-
serviceable channel of hearsay. These
marry and build their own homes al-
most within hail of the parental door.
They are deaf to all alien influences —
all but one.

That one is the Voice of War !

Dawney had a friend and side-
kicker named Bob Halliday, with
whom he had followed the various
vocations that are the milestones of
the farm-boy's life. Together they
had gone to the Oakbum school
(though perhaps not both with the
same spirit; for Bob, instead of being
a student like Dawney, was more
interested in learning to smoke than
in attaining proficiency in the three

R's, and his satchel and shining morn-
ing face followed his chum very grudg-
ingly to the Oakburn academy) ; to-
gether they had herded cattle and
snared gophers on the summer hills;
and synchronously reached the era of
gee-haw and the stubble plow.

Bob was just an average, e very-day
boy, good-humored, freckled and blunt
and now petting a little n^w-born
flaxen mustache. He had no trait in
common with the philosophic Dawney,
but merely chummed with him be-
cause the Halliday and Jenkins families
were next neighbors. Dawney liked
Bob for company because he was
"used to him" and could bounce ideas
Continued on page 197.

Doing a Daniel

IF YOU WANT TO GET YOUR MIND OFF THE

WAR, READ THIS STORY OF -ESTELLE/

THE FEROCIOUS LION. AND WHAT

HE DID TO THE SECOND "DANIEL"

By Porter Emerson Browne

Illustrated by D. V. Dwiggins

OVER in one corner of the little
cafe a careless and cursory orches-
tra was painfully maltreating
the latest specimen of melodious
prtit larceny that had found the fleeting
favor of the public. "Estelle, My Prairie
Belle," it was, and as its stereotyped
strains filtered through the thick smoke
of the room, the property man, seated
across from me, gazed in sad, wan
pensiveness into his beer and, with the
final chord that signified that the
orchestra had at last done its worst, he
gave vent to a deep, deep sigh and mur-
mured in abstracted pathos, "Estelle !
Estelle !" and then relapsed into
another staring interval.

I, wisely, forbore to interrupt him;
and at length he came to himself, and
to me.

"Oh," he said, with a little start. "I
guess I must have been thinking, wasn't
I ?"

I nodded.

"You had all the symptoms," I
returned.

"Ain't it funny," he began; then, in
abrupt transition : ' 'That tune always
sets me thinking of an Estelle I knowed
once. And when I gets to thinking
that way, I goes philandering off into
the mazes of mem'ry until I don't
know where I'm at *■ * * I never
told you about Estelle, did I ?"

I shook my head, and pretended
only a perfunctory interest in the sad
tale of blighted love that I felt sure
was to come. Some people, you know,
will tell you things only when they
think you dpn't care much about hear-
ing them and the property man was
that kind.

"Well," he said, at length, reminis-
cently, "it was this way. In eighteen
ninety-seven I was out with 'The
Queen of the Harem' company. That
was a great show. It was about a
English girl who gets kidnapped by
a Turk and put in his harem. She has
a sweetheart, and he climbs over the
wall in the second act to rescue her.

"The guy that owns the harem
catches him there, and he says to his
slaves (coons they was that we would
pick up in every town that we played),
he says, 'Seize him !' and the coons
grabs the leading man and ties him
hand and foot while the leading lady
looks on, weeping and wailing and
wringing her hands and telling the
coons out of the side of her face that
was turned away from the audience
to be careful not to walk on her train
or she'd tell the manager and they'd
lose their jobs.

"In the next act, for revenge, the
Turk guy puts the leading man into a
lion's den and ties the leading woman

with a log chain where she can get a
good view while the lion eats up her
lover. But just as the lion's about to
make good, the leading woman busts
her chain and runs into the den and
charms the lion with her gaze long
enough to untie the leading man.
Then they both beat it while the lion's
coming out of the Trilby that she has
put him into — a hot situation, eh ?"

I nodded. "Very," I agreed.

"Well," went on the property man,
"we is booked to open in Hoboken.
The manager has bought a ex-circus
lion for the big scene; and of course
he is in my charge.

"They come driving him over from
New York in a cage which is loaded
onto a truck. They makes almighty
good time, too, for the horses can smell
him (and I don't wonder !), and it
stimulates them to such an extent
that they tries seven times to get off
the ferry boat between docks; and
when finally they do get ashore, they
yank the wheels off from three cabs
and a mail wagon and come up to the '
theayter like they was pulling Steamer
Ten to a general alarm fire. Tame
animals is always afraid of wild ones
that way. I knowed a leopard trainer
to go out one evening without changing
his clothes and hire a cab against the
wind. And then, when the breeze

CANADA MONTHLY

159

changed so the horse could smell him —
well, they was chunks of that cab all
the way from Forty-second Street to
the Battery, and then some. But that
ain't got nothing to do with Estelle.

"When they gets in front of the
theatyer, they sends in for me and I
go out, not unperturbed in mind, for
it ain't no joke to go chaperoning a
lion around the country. But when I
get my lamps focussed on the pore
animal who's laying back in one corner
of his cage looking tired and discouraged
and car-sick, I don't feel no other
emotion but pity.

"He sure ain't no beauty to look
at. In the beast deck, he's more like
a dooce than a king. He's got one
bum eye and he's kind of moth-eaten,
and faded around the edges, and his
whiskers looks like they'd been trim-
med by an Eyetalian barber who's in
a hurry to get away to a street festival.
He is certainly a pitiful-looking object.

"We gets him stored in one corner
of the stage and I goes out to buy him
a slab of cow and some dog biscuit.

"When I shoves this provender in
through the the bars of his cage, he
doesn't do what I naturally expects,
come charging down onto it with his
mouth full of growls and a wild light
in his windows. Instead, he merely
lays where he is, casting a peevish and
disappointed gaze upon the sirloin and
crackers. Then, when he sees that I
am watching him, he bats his eye up
at me, grateful and appreciative, and
opens his mouth as apologetically as
you please, and I see the reason for
his peculiar conduct, which is that he
ain't got a tooth in his head. His jaws
is as bare of ornament as an unpaid-for
cemetery site. So I exchanges the
carnivora banquet for a couple of gal-
lons of milk and half a dozen loaves
of bread.

"The lion takes this juvenile repast
like he was a kitten, waggling his tail
gentle as you please and purring like
one of them rivetting machines they
uses on skyscrapers. And every once
in a while, he blinks up at me in grate-
ful thanks. Then, when at last he's

"CHARMS THE HON WITH HER GAZE LONG ENOUGH TO UNTIE THE LEADING MAN.
THEN THEY BEAT IT. . . HOT SITUATION, EH ?"

"I SEE HIS JAWS ARE AS BARE AS AN UNPAID-FOR
CEMETERY LOT"

absorbed his feed, he comes over to
the side of his cage and smiles at me
his deep appreciation for what I have
did for him and then goes over to the
corner of the cage, turns around three
or four times and lays down; and,
resting his head between his paws, he
goes off into a snooze that makes the
drops quiver.

"Byme-bye, about seven o'clock, the
members of the company shows up.
Of course the first thing they does is
to beat it over to the lion's cage. And
there they stands, sizing up his nobs,
who is sleeping as peaceful as a hobo
on a park bench who knows the cop
on the beat is in a saloon.

" 'Ain't she a beauty !' says the
leading lady, whose knowledge of
zoology seems to be somewhat sooper-
ficial. 'What is her name ?'

" 'I don't know,' I says. 'The guys
that brought her over here calls her a
lot of things; but none don't seem to be
exactly what you might term a congo-
men.'

" 'Then,' says the leading lady,
excitedly, 'I shall name her after my-
self, she shall be called Estelle; and
I shall buy her a gold collar !'

" 'A set of false teeth would be a
fair more useful present,' I says. But
I am interrupted by a chorus of
enthusiastic but bashful ladifes, all of
who thinks her own name is the best
and wants to name the lion after her-
self. I've always found that ladies
are very careless students of natooral
history.

"They're having a row which would
wake up anything but that lion when
the manager comes in. He is kind of
soft on the leading lady. So when she
promulgates her decision to name the
lion Estelle, he sees a chance to make
himself solid without it costing him a

cent ; so he merely grins and announces
that hereafter the lion is named
Estelle. And that settles it. He's
Estelle.

"Now the big scene comes in the
third act. Just before the curtain
rings up, it's my job to take Estelle
out of his cage and tie him to a moun-
tain, stage left.

"When they was signing the com-
pany, they had seventeen property
men refuse the job on account of the
lion-taming specialty that went with
it. But I had been doing the Dead
March up and down Broadway all
summer and just as that juncture I
would have agreed to be valet de sham-
ber to a whole African jungle if there
was a chance to eat went with the job.
So I signs.

"You can make up your mind I'm
on the point of giving up the job
several or more times before the show
gets going. But I decides to wait
long enough at least to see what kind
of a quadruped they stacks me up
against.

"Estelle's friendly attitood encour-
ages me a lot; but still all my doubts
ain't dispelled by a long way for, not-
withstanding her grateful attentions
after I feeds her, I'm not so sure that
when I goes into the cage she won't
suddenly remember that, even if her
teeth are non compos mentis, her hooks
are still good, and want to practice a
little vivisection work on my shrinking
form. Wild animals, you know, have
a grace of bearing and a gentleness of
manner when they are caged up alone
that they sometimes forgets when in
human society.

"All through the first and second
acts that night, my pedal extremities
is getting more and more chilled ; and
when the curtain finally rings down on

160

the last scene of the second, they're
so cold that I could have put 'em in a
tub of hot alcohol and froze it solid.
My knees wabbles like I has the ague
and I keeps lapping my lips with my
tongue and then wondering why I
done it; for it's like wiping a gravel
roof with a doormat.

"I watches them Hoboken scene
slammers putting up the mountain and
has almost decided to beat it when the
manager comes waltzing over to where
I'm giving an imitation of the unfor-
unate herowine freezing to death on
the church steps at midnight in 'Turned
Adrift; or, Out in the Cold, Cold,
World.'

" 'Aw, what's the matter with you ?'
says the manager, sourcastically.
'Have you got locomotive ataxia, or
are you only shaking yourself for the
drinks ? Get Estelle out of his cage
and hitch him to that ringbolt on the
mountain. And get a move on. See ?'

"I tries to answer; but the words
get lost in the gravel in my elementary
canal, and nothing comes out.

" 'Do a Daniel,'
says the manager.
'Do a Daniel.
What's the matter,
anyhow? You ain't
afraid, are you ?
Why, he wouldn't
bite a cream puff.
But if you're scar-
ed, I'll send home
for my three-year-
old niece to come
and do it. , Hell !
Did I hire a man
or a blooming old
woman ? Huh ?'

"Now no guy can stand being talked
to like that. So I bristled myself up,
shut my eyes and wabbled into the
cage with my hair standing up like a
German diplomat's.

"But there wasn't no call at all to be
afraid. Just like the manager said,
Estelle was the height of compati-
bility. A mustard plaster was cold
and distant compared to him. And
without no trouble at all, except that
he jumps up on me and tries to kiss
me, I takes him out and hitches him
to the mountain.

"The curtain goes up showing a
panorama of burning sand embellished
with potted palms and the mountain
which Estelle is tied to. And in
another minute, the coons comes on,
dragging the leading man.

"Of course, nobody but me and the
manager has yet mixed up with Estelle
socially, and for all the rest may know,
he's the concentrated squintessence of
unadulterated savagery. So you can
bet them coons ties up the leading
man like they'd worked all their lives
at the bundle counter, and then ducks
oiT the stage like the theay terjf was

CANADA MONTHLY

afire; which, of course, adds verisi-
militood to the scene and don't en-
courage the leading man none too
much.

"That guy last-named languishes
about three foot beyond the reach of
Estelle's chain in a harassed condition
of mind that's pitiful to see; for, as
I've said, .he ain't acquainted with
Estelle none at all and he don't know
what her homicidal tendencies may be.

"Estelle, after gazing in disappointed
and lonely surprise after the disappear-
ing coons, sees the leading man and
perks up quite some. He purrs a little
and rubs himself sociably against the
mountain and then starts to go across
to where that hysterical guy is tethered.

"The leading man forgets his bonds
and gets ready to take a flying start
for the wings. With his eyes bugged
out so you could have knocked 'em
off with a stick and his hair standing
up all over his head like the needles
on the peevish porcupine, as the feller
says, he waits until Estelle is within
eighteen inches of him. Then, so sud-

WOVLD RESCUE HER LOVER BEFORE ESTELLE COULD BECOME SOCIABLE

den that in comparison to him a streak
of lightning would appear slow and
sedentary, he gives a yell and starts
off for the wings in such a hurry that
he knocks the leading woman, who's
just coming on to rescue him, off into
the bass drum, and disappears from
view.

"The curtain's rung down, and the
manager goes out onto the apron of
the stage and tells the audience, which
is all trying to get out of the theayter
at once, that there ain't no danger—
that the savage brute has been sub-
dued and put back into his cage and
so on and so forth until there ain't
nobody left in the house to talk to,
and next afternoon we opens in Pater-
son.

"Knowing Estelle's social propensi-
ties, we are somewhat doubtful next
day when we raises the curtain on the
third act. But, being as we've man-
aged to give the leading man full and
unqualified confidence in Estelle's paci-
fic intentions and unbounded ami-
ability, we're hoping for the best.

"And so it was that when the coons
had dragged the leading man on, and

had departed like a bunch of two-year*
olds in a steeplechase, leaving the lead*
ing man to tie his own hands and feet,
he done so unmoved. And when
Estelle went sociably toward him, he
didn't try to break no sprinting records,
but just lay there, gritting his teeth
and trying to appear dignified and
courageous.

"But would you believe it, before the
leading woman had a chance to get on
the stage and save the leading man,
Estelle has laid down comfortably
along-side that languishing guy and
went to sleep I And all through that
thrilling saving scene he don't wake up
at all, but just lays there and snores
so that when the herowine yells, 'Sweet-
heart, you are safe at last !' you can't
hear her at all. He don't wake up
until after the curtain is down and the
audience is yelling itself sick. And
then I has to go out and prod him six
or eight times with a scimiter before
he'll come to.

"Things continues to go wrong until
we reaches Pittsubrg. But then we
'\ finds out how' to
■ handle the scene;
and after that the
show goes great.
I The way we'd work
1 it was to bore holes
in the stage and
guys would stand
underneath with
ong poles and prod
Estelle whenever
he'd try to lay down.
And the leading la-
dy, by working fast,
could rescue her
lover before Estelle
had a chance to get sociable.

"Then they'd give the quickest kind
of curtain.

"During the next six weeks I got to
be very fond of Estelle, and he got to
be very fond of me, too. You know
how you'll grow to love a good, faith-
ful, affectionate .dorg that's big, and
slow, and poky, and that is perfectly
and soopremely happy when he can
put his head on your knee and have
you rub his nose.

"Well, that's just how it was with
me and Estelle.

"And we kept on getting more that
way every day. In fact, byme-bye
Estelle gets so attached to me that he
just can't abide to have me leave him
at all. He'll cry and mope and whine
and beller every time I go away from
him, and take on so he'll scare the
whole community into fits; and after
they had to send for me fifteen or
twenty times to come down to the
theayter at three o'clock in the mom-
ning and comfort him, I decided the
best thing to do was to sleep there. I
saved a lot of money in lodgins by it, too.
Continued on page 186.

Rescuing Mary

THEREIN THE PROBATION OFFICER^ THE INSPECTOR. THE SCRIBE AND PHARISEE,
TWO POLICEMEN. ET AL, FETCH THE WOMAN FROM MACEDONIA AWAY
FROM THE TENDER MERCIES OF PETER— AND THEN LEARN
MORE ABOUT HUMAN NATURE

By Eleanor M. Sanderson

Illustrated by P. C. Sheppard

IT WAS in a Macedonian restaurant,
first floor up, that we rescued
Mary, and therfe were five of us
in the rescue party. There was
the Probation Officer, Irish and twinli-
ling, with a very warm and sometimes
stern interest in everyone's affairs; the
Inspector, big and Scotch as the Ten
Commandments, and personally ap-
pointed to enforce them, with heart-
l)reaks of sympathy at the back of his
eyes because he had to; two modest
plainclothes policemen, who always
hacked out the door when the Proba-
tion Officer discussed the things for
which Marys were arrested or rescued,
and the Scribe and Pharisee who went
to get a "story" for the moral uplift of
the community and felt as comfortable
us a man arrested for tripping a cripple.
The front entrance of the Mace-
donian restaurant was at the back, and
you were inside before you saw the
entrance at all. Though the plain-
clothes men went round another street
to arrive earlier and avoid the appear-
ance of a surprise party, all the boxes
of porches on the lane which ran as a
tributary from the dusty stream of
King Street, were ornamented with a
row of heads protruding in a line sug-
gestive of guillotine victims. Heads
with curl-papers, sleepy-eyed, black-
moustached heads with queer-shaped
pipes in their mouths, corn-colored
heads with mud streaks down their
small cheeks and skull-like heads with
outlines softened by mud-colored
shawls, all nodded and swayed and
remarked on the fact that trouble had
come to Peter and the English woman.
Mary kept the garbage boxes under
the foot of the stairs because they were
less likely to be stepped in there in the
dark, and there were no lights. They
were quite full and in the four by six-
foot space of rotting boards around
them played two fat dumplings of girls,
one of seven and the other five. They
had English faces with red and white
cheeks, and the seven-year-old told us
that her name was "Vi'let," which
matched her eyes. They were Mary's
family. They stood back and watched

PETER REALIZED HE WAS A FELON — BUT WHAT

ABOUT Mary's children ?

with round eyes as the strange people
climbed the narrow rough wood ladder
that shot abruptly from the cubby-hole
to the rooms above.

"Come this way first, and see a
Macedonian boardinghouse," invited
one of the plainclothes men, walking
cheerfully into a room full of smoke and
unrighteous odors. The door, which
had been partly closed, was swung wide
open and in a bare-floored room
around a bare table sat seven men and
boys. It was four in the afternoon,
and the sun took pleasure in pointing
out scornfully all the dust, the broken
teapot and the glasses filled with sugar-
less, milkless tea, the rough, soiled
clothing and collarless shirts of the men.

their unshaven, seamed faces and
blackened finger-nails, the rags of
underclothing littered about or hanging
from nails on the walls, the red iron of
the rusted little stove and all the harsh
discordances of uncared-for men in
poverty. Four of them had been play-
ing with a torn pack of cards stained
with tea and tobacco, but they dropped
their cards and stared at the visitors.
The younger men twisted uneasily in
their chairs and one grinned apologeti-
cally because of some criticism he
seemed to feel in the heavy air, or to
glimpse in the strangers' eyes.

"What's that you're drinking?"
asked the officer.

"Tea," responded an elder man,
shoving the glass before him over to the
edge of the table with a stubby hand,
from which one finger was missing.

"Huh! Maybe it is," was the reply,
as the plainclothes man turned to go.
"That's the way they live here. Is
this a fit place for an English girl?
Now, is it?"

Without going into the front room,
from which voices proclaimed the fact
that the rescue of Mary was in process,
the top flat was then explored. More
rough wooden steps led as abruptly to
it, and under these steps were piled the
nine mattresses, on which slept each
night as many of the black-eyed
stranger-within-our-gates as could layer
themselves between wall and wall. At
night these mattresses were dragged
from under the stairs and spread out in
the hallways, the kitchen, and up on the
bare spaces of the top story. Two
rooms on the top, one with seven and
the other with five camp beds in it, com-
pleted the "restaurant." The officer
waved an appealing hand around,
repeating :

"Now, IS it any place for an English
girl? I ask you?"

We stumped down the wooden stairs
in the darkness and returned to Mary.
The door of the room in which the men
played cards was closed and the man
with the maimed hand stood in front of
it listening to the voices in the front
room. Vi'let toiled up the stairs fol-

101

162

lowed by her small sister. At the top
the man patted her on the head and
spoke in thick, foreign words until he
noticed that the officer was frowning at
him. He dropped his hand, started to
grin uncomfortably, changed his mind
and frowned, then turned and walked
clumsily down the stairs and out to the
street. Vi'let smoothed down her
pretty blue dress, very new and one
of the seventy-five cent ready-made
children's garments turned from the
factories until the pattern wears out.
The baby's dress wqs just a smaller size
of it and in green, but they were clean
and toned with the pink and white
little faces. They were part of the
rescue story.

A soft sound came from behind the
door of the front room, and when
Vi'let pushed it open we saw that it was
Mary sobbing. Mary is twenty-three,
with big brown eyes like a lost water-
spaniel ; a red mouth making an inch-
wide slit in a white face, and no chin to
speak of. If she had been in a classic
instead of a Macedonian restaurant, we
could have said she was just as high as
Peter's heart, but the Police Inspector
stood between them, so we couldn't
measure accurately.

"How soon can you get packed?"
the Inspector was asking.

"Well, not before to-night," ven-
tured Mary, picking Vi'let's stockings
from one chair and aimlessly putting
them on another. "The baby's asleep
and I don't want to wake her." A
slight mound in the white cover of a
crib was the baby, just a year old.

CANADA MONTHLY

"See here!" said the Inspector,
slowly and emphatically, "this lady
(the Probation Officer) will wait for
you, and you've got just an hour.
There'll be a wagon come for you and
your stuff then. We've got a nice room
for you, and you can put your girls in
the Creche in the daytime. They've
got work for you and they've paid your
room rent in advance."

"They" meant a church institution.

No enthusiasm was displayed by
Mary, Peter or Vi'let, and the pink wee
girl who had stolen in went over to play
with the window curtain, draping it as
a veil over her rosy face.

"Will she keep her children by her?"
dared Peter, from the background.

Peter is a giant with a face like a
Raphael cherub who had grown up,
taken to the restaurant business, a
Christy hat and a huge black mous-
tache. He is child-like; doesn't want to
hurt anything and is a Socialist. But
Peter hadn't married Mary. He
couldn't, because Mary is already mar-
ried to a Briton person who ran away
when the last baby appeared. Since
then Mary has worked and kept herself
and the babies in the straight and
narrow path. Then some of the debris
from the collapse of the 1914 business
world blocked that path.

Nothing Canadian needed her, but a
Macedonian named Peter, with brown
eyes much like her own, needed a wait-
ress at four dollars a week with meals.
Mary took it. That was the beginning.
The middle was the room papered fresh
with nursery paper showing little girls

"what's that you're drinking ?" ASKED THE OFFICER.
WITH THE MISSING FINGER

"TEA," SAID TBB MAN

and boys rolling hoops and picking
flowers ; a sewing machine, small white
iron cots for the children; a black silk
dress with a girdle for Mary; dresses
for the children — and the end was the
visit of the Inspector.

Now Peter stood rubbing a big finger
up and down on the window ledge,
realizing that he was a felon — and
worrying about Mary's children.

"Don't you worry about the chil-
dren," returned the Inspector, sternly.
"We'll take care of them better than
you ever could. This isn't any place
for little girls like these to be growing
up, with those foreigners loafing round
here all day."

"She can take the sewing machine,"
mildly replied Peter.

"No, she can't!" thundered the
officer. "She oan't take anything
belonging to you. Except the trunk,
that is," he added, realizing that Mary
had moved from her last lodgings by
means of a cotton sheet tied cornerwise.

Mary, who had looked up, turned to
her packing again with a child-like
sniffle. Her hands groped clumsily,
taking out things she had just put in,
and streaking her hair back from her
wet eyes. Four of us, as became right-
eous law-abiders, watched her from the
door. Suddenly she straightened her
thin back and looked at us with eyes
that said, "Can't some one of you
understand?" but her voice said in a
crumbly tone:

" I'm so excited like that I can't seem
to get things in right." Her lips com-
menced to move in the direction of a
shadow smile.

" Excited !" snorted the law, who was
much tried himself, "I should think
you'd have been more excited over
coming here than ever going. You
should be glad to go. Aren't you
ashamed?"

Mary collapsed over the trunk like a
small field flower when the stem is.
broken. She crushed away the baby
dresses and clothing in Peter's trunk
in silence, punctuated with sobs.

Excitement in the lane was intense.
A wagon was waiting out on the street
and its driver, being paid by the hour,,
sat comfortably smoking on a water
hydrant. The hasp of the trunk was
at last snapped; the children's sailor
tams put on, the baby rolled in a shawl
and Mary lastly pinned on her own new
black turban with a stick-up like the
Crown Prince's Regiment. She looked
back at Peter through the glass as she
pinned it in shape. That was their
good-bye.

The procession then filed down the
stairs, the Probation Officer leading the
way with Vi'let cheerfully clinging to
her hand and a man with a trunk on his-
back bringing up the rear.

"Now, I want you to understand,""
Continued on page 188.

■iDiiiuiiiiiiiiiiiiiniii iiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiii iiiiiiiiiiiiii iiiiiiii mill iiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiii iiiiiiiiiiiiiii iiiiiniiiiiiiiii[;i('3t3liiiiii"iiiiin"M iiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiin itiiiumiiiiiiiiiiiiiHuiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiuiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiii iiiiiiiii inniiiiiiiiiiiiiiiliiiiiiij

I Folk-Songs of the Ukrainians |

NOTE THE INTELLIGENT FACES

Illllllllllllllllllllllllllll'UlllllllllllllllllllilllllllllllllllilllllllllllllllUlllllllllllll

EUROPE in miniature is mirrored
in certain districts of Winnipeg,
but the average city dweller
never goes Abroad; and there-
by he misses a new and great interest
in life. A social worker told me that
he was getting the most liberal educa-
tion in European history and manners
that one could imagine, because he
stood on the thresholds of doors that
were at last unbarred to him. Many
of his new acquaintances, however,
would never when introduced give
him their correct address — he was re-
ferred to another, and sometimes even
passed on to a third before it was con-
sidered "safe" to let him know such a
seemingly unimportant thing. But
they knew what they knew.

MWith thirty million Ruthenians
phting for Russia and three million
nder Austria's Eagles what can be
the attitude of the 200,000 Ukrainians
who are in Canada ? Brother is fight-
ing against brother in the old land- —
fighting for what ? Those men who
have come to Canada are content. If
there were hope for the re-establish-
ment of the Ukraine in Austria and
Russia they would fight and gladly
for the land that once was theirs.
There is a chance that Russia will give
the Ukrainians something of the free-
dom and autonomy she is promising
the Poles — there is not much chance

WITH BROTHERS FIGHTING
FOR RUSSIA, ALSO FOR AUS-
TRIA, WHAT IS THE ATTITUDE
OF CANADA'S TWO HUNDRED
THOUSAND UKRAINIANS? HERE
IS AN INTIMATE STUDY OF THE
HOME LIFE OF THE PICTUR-
ESQUE PEOPLES WHO HAVE
COME OVER TO CANADA IN
SEARCH OF PEACE

By Florence Randal
Livesay

Illustrated from Photographs

of anything else. Austria's Ukrainians
must die for a forlorn hope.

As for the attitude of the women it
is for the most part one of apathy and
dull waiting for news of relatives. A
Bukovinian girl said to me when she
saw the Canadian soldiers going to the
front: "Why do they go ? How
stupid, when they don't have to !"

But my Ukrainian servant was an
enthusiastic Canadian. "Sure they
should fight !" she made sturdy reply.
"It's not all of us that have a good
country like Canada to fight for; we
earn good money here; we're free;
when the war is over I think I'll send
for the rest of us."

This bright girl has a grandmother
still living who is one hundred and
three. "She is ready to die, yes, and
wants to go. But sometimes she will
brighten up wonderfully and tell of
things that happened when she was a
young married woman. The Polish
land-owners then could do as they
liked with the common people. Twelve
days in the year a policeman would
come to the door and say 'You must
work to-day for your landlord. If
you have children between eight and
fifteen you must take them too. Pro-
vide your own meals — and see that
you don't shirk your work.' If they
did, they got a taste of the overseer's
whip. Not a cent was paid them for
their labor; now they get seventy-five
cents a day. My mother and father
cannot read. Fifty years ago there
were three churches in our village, but
not a school. Then the young men
went to other places and saw what it
meant to read and they came back and
made the priest give us schools. In
Austria we have our own language;

UKRAINIANS IN NATIONAL DRESS

i;iiiii:iiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiii

in the Russian Ukraine they would not
let us have it," the girl explained.

The picture of the Ukrainian girl
illustrating this article is that of a very
attractive and intelligent-looking
young woman. She is dressed in. the
erstwhile national costume. She may
have come from Austrian Galicia or
Bukovina, or from the Russian Ukraine
but she is Ukrainian, if given her
proper name.

She has probably been acting in one
of the plays put on by a Ruthenian
Dramatic Society, and has taken from
her chest the costume she used to wear.
In certain districts in the North-west-
ern part of Winnipeg one can see
regular display boards of photographic
studios in front of an occasional wooden
house and these places, usually run
by Ruthenians, assisted perhaps by a
Jew, do a very good business. Thither
almost every newly-wedded pair be-
take themselves immediately after the
ceremony and the photograph of the
Polish bride in her white silk gown
trimmed with "meert" — the myrtle
garland — is framed in a glass cabinet
fronting the street, for all the world to
see.

One cardinal rule must be observed

by the would-be successful photog-

raper, working in those districts.

Every part of the subject's body must

appear. Both feet must show, for

1«8

164

instance, the supposition be-
ing that if the foot is not in
the photograph it either does
not exist or is deformed.

"The Ukrainians are the
best soldiers of the Russian
and Austrian empires. The
household guards and guard
regiments in Russia are al-
most entirely recruited from
the Ukraine."

So says the pamphlet is-
sued by the Ukraine Com-
mittee of London, England,
which sets forth facts that
should be known concerning
"the forgotten kingdom of
Ukraine." For Canadians
this brave people, with its
heritage of tears and its
struggle against oppression,
should have especial interest
at this juncture, when, like
Poland, it is probable the
submerged nation will secure
many concessions from Rus-
sia. Thirty million are fight-
ing for that country, three
million for Austria, and
meantime, though brother is
pitted against brother, the
hopes of both centre in the
beloved word "Ukraine."

As their national anthem
runs:

"Ukraine, Ukraine, thou livest still,
Freedom, existence, liberty.
All these, all these shall come with
thee !"

The Ukraine lies partly in
Russian, partly in Austrian
territory, from the Carpathi-
ans to the Caucasus. In Russia
it is officially called Malo-
russia, or Little Russia; in
Austria since the message of
the aged Emperor in 1912,
it is officially recognized as
Ukraine. The Austrian Ukraine is
partly in Galicia, partly in Bukovina,
partly in Hungary. The word Ukraine
has been used in the English language
since the seventeenth century. For
hundreds of years it was an independ-
ent Kingdom, then a Republic. Its
people speak a language as utterly
different from the Russian as, say
French from Portuguese, and not a
dialect of the Russian, as alleged some-
times; their life, habits, appearance
are altogether personal, and exclusive
of Russian ways, they being almost
pure Slavs, while the Russians are
Finno-Slavs, with no small amount of
Mongol blood. The Ukrainian folk-
lore is recognized as richer.

We see these Ukrainians in Winni-
peg daily, the bright handkerchief or
veil of the women slowly but surely
being replaced by the equally gaily-
flowered straw hats of the depart-
mental store. These women and girls

i^-

CANADA MONTHLY

On The Steppes

Translated from the Ukrainian

Florence Randal Livesay

On the steppes two fir-trees old
Their shrunken trunks uphold.
And there stands a third between
Splendid in its lowering green.

A young Cossack lies sick on the road;

A young Cossack lies low.

Spent he lies, and he fears that Death
Waits beside for his last-drawn breath.

"O my brothers, pray you run

To let my mother know

To let my mother know !
Let her come where the frontier lies

To bury the Cossack

To bury the Cossack — "

"0 son of mine" she wailing cries,
"Lo, ever thus the sinner dies !
Thy stubborn heart that would not bend I
Such is thine end, such is thine end !"
" — And my grave, O Mother dear.

With stones thou'lt heap it high.
With stones thou'lt heap it high.

"Plant at my head red cranberries

Scarlet against the sky.

Scarlet against the sky.
Upon the branches hang

A crimson flag aflame,

A crimson flag aflame.
To show how soldiers die;

Ukraine shall know my fame,

Ukraine shall know my fame !"

y7\:s..

we call "foreigners" — ^and let it go at
that. Even yet a Westerner will care-
lessly class them all as "Galatians,"
mixing Scripture and geography in
frank disregard. Sometimes they
come into our homes as char-women or
servants. And then we may perhaps
realize what a world is shut away from
us every day of our lives by our own
stupid narrowness. But what a chance
it is whether our ears ever receive the
"Ephatha" which gives us access to
it !

The small amount I have learned
about the foreign element in Winni-
peg, their songs and outlook on life,
came to me through a child's nursery
jingle. I played "Ring-a-rosy" for
my little girl's benefit, and Petronella,
a Polish-German girl, cried out, "All
the same German: 'Green is the
grass, O little horses !' ".

This is my version of her trans-
lation: — -J ajE -ftatt^

"Green, green, green is the grass;
O little horses, O little horses !
Frisking and stamping with each

little lass —
Green, green, green is the grass.

Who is the nicest small girl here?
Hoosli, Hoosh! Hofjsh, Hoosh !
Little girl, little girl, jump, jump,

jump !
High as my heart, high as this —
Little girl, little girl, give me a

kiss;
O little horses, O little horses !"

By degrees, I put her
singing-games into English
verse, then, as she knew
Polish, she gave me child-
songs and story — dramas
from that language and
"Galish" as she called it,
and one day she introduced
me to Bukovinian Halka,
who knew "lots songs not
in de book."

If others are as ignorant
as I was about the "old
country" where these people
come from, it might be well
to mention how easily one
can get mixed up over just
one name — Bukovina, for
instance. In that duchy
and crown land of Austria,
bounded by Russia, Rou-
mania, Hungarj^ and Gal-
icia, inl900 its inhabitants
were classified as follows: —
forty per cent. Ruthenians,
thirty-five per cent. Rou-
manians, thirteen per cent.
Jevs, and the remainder
Germans, Poles, Hungarians,
Russians and Armenians.
Can you make a guess at
the official language ? Well,
it is German.

M. Ivan Petrushevich,
Dominion Government
Commissi oner for the
Ruthenians of Western Canada, who
is well acquainted with "the most
beautiful of all the Slav languages,"
very kindly told me something about
Ruthenian songs and about the famed
national poet lavas Shevchen to. "Each
village has its own songs, which may
be unknown to its neighbors" said he,
"therefore you will realize that only
about one-twentieth of tlie folk-
literature is published, even in Ruth-
enian. You may be quite safe in
translating anything you like into Eng-
lish verse ; it will be new to your readers,
and possibly also to us. Mrs. E. L.
Voynich, the well-known English
writer, has translated some of Shev-
chento's poems into English verse,
but much of his finest work is not
included in her collection. He put
the folk-song into lyric form as Chopin
adapted the melodies of the people,,
both illuminating them with their own
art."

M. Petneshench himself is a folk-
song collector, a man of wide literary
attainments; but he smiled over his
words when he said that it was not
advisable to study or publish folk-
lore in Austria or Russia. "One may
have too much leisure to write poetry
in a prison cell ! All songs must be
submitted to the Censor and until we
learnt wisdom we sent him our ori-
ginals, which were promptly confis-
ated. Now we keep copies, but we
do not publish much, except in Galicia.
The people make their own songs and
they sing them to one another — caged
or not, the birds must sing."

They sing in Winnipeg, but they
are apt to disdain their own melodies,
to learn instead our pitiful rag-time.
Halka, erstwhile of Bukovina, came
to see me in a fawn suit of the latest
cut, with ultra-fashionable hat which
her clever fingers had fashioned out of
a rough shape and some cheap flowers.

CANADA MONTHLY

She had been eight years in Winnipeg,
and spoke very good English.

"Sure, I'll tell you some songs,"
she said "if I don't get all muddled up.
I don't know much except love songs,
though, maybe you don't want those ?"

Long afterward I drew from pretty
Halka — who was a great belle — her
own love-song, which she had com-
posed and sung to the suitor who per-
sisted in unwelcome attentions. Naive
as it is, one can see in it the passion of
the Ukrainian or Border-Caud dweller
to translate emotion into verse and
music; essentially a dramatic people
they stage themselves unabashed, and
make epics and sagas of life in a new
country. This was her song, then, as
her own life made her sing:

"In a garden a big, red poppy grows —
A fellow used to love me — he'd a very big nose;
But I did not want him, and I told him so !
'My face' I said 'is white, white as the snow.
Black as the soot seems your face to me —
What then shall happen if these things be ?

165

Dark is my hair, and my cheeks are white
If I married you I would look a sight !' "

Apparently this "plain-singing" had
its effect, since the afflicted one be-
sieged her no more.

She told me that it was quite cus-
tomary for Ruthenians in Canada to
write their experiences in the new
land in song form and get them pub-
lished in Austria. Apparently these
would not make good immigration
literature. One poet sang of his first
Easter Sunday in Winnipeg — of the
bright city with its streets "fixed so
nice;" of himself with no money and
no food, sleeping in a ditch. "You
see" she said in explanation, "when
they first come they don't know the
language and the ways and it makes
them cranky." It's kind of worse at
first, and they feel like writing about
it."

I wanted to tell her that we had a
Continued on page 189.

On the Waiting List

By B. R. W. Deacon

Illustrated by C. O. Longabaugh

T the Old Brewery Mission, in
Montreal, you may dine for a
dime — five English pennies. It
is not a sumptuous repast, but
lling, forsooth. Or, if you happen
lack the pennies, you may break-
ist, lunch or dine at least once at the
)ld Brewery without visiting the
ishier's wicket. Incidentally you will
be given a chance to earn the pennies
|or your next meal.

Half a dozen who had breakfasted
Fere gathered in the waiting-room of
le Old Brewery', on the day before
^ew Years, presumably awaiting this
lance. Three sat in moody silence
jipon a bench along the wall. They
dressed in shabby clothes of
icient vintage. Little trifles in their
ttire— the way the coarse scarfs were
about their throats, the dilapi-
lated blue caps, the faded jerseys —
Ipoke of the sea. A tall man in very
igged tweeds stood beside the win-
dow and scowled at the large, feathery
lowflakes which were tumbling softly
oblivion in the mud and slush of
le street. At the opposite side of the
irindow, his feet perched high on the
ron rail which protected the glass,
It an anaemic-looking young man in
faded blue serge suit, several sizes
3o small. An exceedingly ferocious-
Doking tattooed eagle on his wrist

E WAS A DECENT HARIIZAN OVER OME, AN
IM WASHIN' DISHES !"

appeared to be volplaning toward his
fingers, bearing the Stars and Stripes,
also tattooed, in its beak.

A long silence was broken by the
tall man in tweeds.

"Gor-blawsted country 1" he growl-
ed, addressing the window-pane.

"It sure ain't as good as Gawd's
country, which is them U-nited States,
but I guess it ain't so awful different,
at that," commented the tattooed
man.

"Aw, shut yer 'ed 1" tersely sug-
gested one of the trio on the bench.

The tall man in tweeds made no
comment. He continued to stare
gloomily at the falling snow.

The door leading from the office
opened and a wiry little man with
close-cropped, iron-grey hair popped
into the room. His clothing was
travel-stained and dilapidated — the
kind of stain and dilapidation result-
ant upon travel over the trucks of a
freight car.

" 'UUo, mates !" he called cheerily
and impartially to the other occupants
of the room.

"Hello, frien'l" said the tattooed
man.

" 'UUo !" echoed one of the seafar-
ing trio gruffly. A second merely
grunted; the third remained silent.
The tall man in tweeds continued to
stare out of the window.

The newcomer gazed about him
with evident curiosity.

"Fu'st time yuh was here ?" queried
the tattooed man.

"Yus," replied the wiry little man.
"Great hinstitushun, I calls it !"

166

"Get any eats ?" asked the tat-
tooed man.

"Henny heats ?" repeated the little
man slowly and inquiringly, emphasiz-
ing a couple of superfluous h's.

"Eats ! breakfas'!" explained the
tattooed man.

"Breakfus'!" exclaimed the wiry
little man enthusiastically. "Not
'arlf ! Liver'n'bacon ! 'Ole 'caps of
it ! An' corfee ! An' no bloomin'
charge ! Great hinstitushun, I calls
it!"

"Ugh !" protested the tall man
through the window to the falling
snow. "Liver'n'bacon ! Bloomin' fine !
There's precious little bacon, there is !
Liver ! Ugh ! Me wot used t' 'ave
me beef an' me chops at 'ome !"

The wiry little man looked as though
he was quite prepared to argue in sup-
port of the liver and bacon, but the
tattooed man cut in —

"Jus' come ovah, Bo ?"

"Wot, me ?" said the little man.
"I've been 'ere 'most two weeks, I
'ave. Jus' come up from 'Alifax. It's
a bit stiff 'angin' on to them there
fr'ight cars. Got a bit chummy with
one of th' brakesmen chaps hafter I
lef Querbec, though, an' 'e let me sit
in 'is car part of the w'y. ' 'Ere's a bit
of luck right hoff at th' start, Jim,' I
says ter meself. An' in Mon'real 'ere,
a bloke 'e gives me a bloomin' tram
ticket an' tells me to come hup 'ere.
An' when I tol' 'em 'ere I was broke,
w'y, they gives me me breakfus'- —
liver'n'bacon, an' corfee — an' they're
agoin' to get me a jorb. This Canader,
hit ain't 'arlf bad, I says — not
'arlf !"

He dragged a chair out from the
wall and, placing it before the window,
joined the man in tweeds in his occupa-
tion of watching the slowly-falling
flakes.

"Wot 'as me beat," he volunteered
after a pause, "is this — where's hall
th' snaow? When I furs' makes up
my min' to come hout to Canader, I
says — "

The tall man in tweeds turned about
at this point and the little man forgot
to finish his recital.

"Well, Lor!" he exclaimed. "I'll
be blowed if it hain't ol' Bill Jipson !
'Oo'd hever think t' see yer 'ere, Bill !
Lemme shaike yer flipper," he con-
cluded, shooting out his hand.

The tall man put forth his "flipper"
and shook hands without enthusiasm.

"Well, of hall things !" repeated the
little man. "'Oo'd hever 'ave thought
it ? An' me thinkin' you was hout in
Manitober !"

"Naw, I hain't," stated the tall man
briefly and conclusively.

"Hain't mide yer bloomin' fort'ne
in Canader then, 'ave yer ?" inquired
the little man.

" Blime ! Fort'ne !" growled the

CANADA MONTHLY

other. " Gor - blawsted country! I
was a hidgit to come hout 'ere. Yer a
hidgit too ! You wouldn't 'ave to
'ang on to fr'ight trines over 'ome,
would jer ?"

A young man stuck his head out of
the office door.

"Two men to clean sidewalks," he
announced.

The trio on the bench looked from
one to another for a minute. None
spoke, but some sort of telepathic bal-
loting seemed to be in progress. Two
arose and shuffled into the office. •

"See yer t'night," said one over his
shoulder as he disappeared.

"Awrigh'," muttered the one who
remained.

The wiry little man watched the
proceeding with very evident interest.

"They've got jorbs," he commented.
"Got jorbs a'ready !"

"Aw, cleanin' sidewalks," said the
tall man disgustedly. "Them sailors
'11 do henny think."

"An, Sammy Biggs," said the little
man reflectively after a short pause,
"Hever see Sammy Biggs out 'ere ?
'E come out pretty near five year ago.
They s'y 'e's mide 'is fort'ne 'ere."

"An' well 'e might !" declared the
tall man with much disgust. "Savin'
an' scrimpin' th' w'y 'e done ! Wash-
in' dishes, 'e was at furs' — washin'
dirty dishes in a little tuppenny-'ap-
penny cafey. 'E didn't care wot 'e
did. Biggs didn't ! 'E was halways
asavin' up 'is money. An' then 'e
bought th' plice; then 'e bought
another plice, larger. .An' now 'e's so
bloomin proud 'e won't speak to no
one, 'e won't. I hain't good enough
fer 'im, I hain't ! W'y I remembers
when 'e was jus' washing' dishes. 'E
was a decent hartisan over 'ome, an'
'im washin' dishes !"

" 'Ow is it yer in 'ere. Bill ?" asked
the little man soUcitously. "Hain't
yer got no jorb ?"

" 'Ow can I 'ave a jorb when hevery-
one is down on me ?" responded the
other querulously. I'm a mechanic, I
ham I I hain't no bloomin' dish-
washer !"

"Gee ! I wisht I had some reg'lar
trade," remarked the tattooed man.
"I'd dig out after some steady job,
an' buy me some glad rags."

"Rags ?" puzzled the little man.

"Sure ! Some rags — swell clothes,"
explained the tattooed man.

" 'Ow can a man get a jorb at 'is
tride when heveryone's down on 'im ?"
continued the tall man. "I'm a good
hartisan, I ham, an' I hain't agoin' to
work fer nuthin'. They won't give
me no good jorb, they won't — ^jus'
because I'm Hinglish."

"Man to beat carpets," shouted the
young man from the office, appearing
again.

"Carpets 1" said the tattooed man

with the air of a connoisseur of jobs.
"Nix on th' carpets fer mine !"

" 'Ere !" exclaimed the man on the
bench. He jumped up and followed
the young man into the office.

"An' ol' Peter Simmons," mused
the little man. " 'E sent hover far
'is missus two year ago. You remem-
ber Simmons, 'im as used to tell all
th' funny tiles at th' pub ? Hever
'ear of 'im out 'ere ?"

"Hever 'ear of Simmons ! W'y me
an' 'im lived 'ere together before 'is
missus come. We was great pals
once," stated the tall man. '"E's got
no shine, 'as Simmons. W'y 'e was
laborin' on th' r'ilroad with a lot of
bloomin' Hitalians after 'e lef 'ere.
'E couldn't get no jorb at 'is tride in
this blawsted country, so wot does 'e
do ? 'E goes has a laborer on a
r'ilroad, 'im as 'ad a good tride !"

"Workin' on th' r'ilroad now ?"
asked the little man.

"Not 'arlf, 'e hain't !" declared the tall
man. "Some blokes 'as all th' luck,"
he continued thoughtfully. "Started
farmin' out west, 'e did. Howns a big
farm out in Manitober now."

"Window-washing job," announced
the man from the office. "One man
wanted to wash windows."

"Me fer th' windys," said the tat-
tooed man. He disappeared into the
office.

"Washin' bloomin' windows !" mut-
tered the tall man. "Gor-blawsted
country !"

"I cawn't hunderstan' some of
these 'ere hupstarts," he volunteered
after a lengthy pause. "There was
Joe Smith. Came hover on th' sime
boat, we did. 'E was so bad hoff 'e
started hover 'ere amixin' mortar.
An' a bit since I met 'im drivin' 'is
hown motor. 'E wouldn't lend me a
cent — not a bloomin' red ! 'W'y don't
you go to work ?' 'e says to me. ' 'Ow
can hennybody go to work,' I asks,
'when heverybody's down on 'im ?"

"Lady wants a man to beat rugs,"
came the announcement from the
office door.

The little man watched his tall
companion for a moment.
>®"I s'pose it's your turn," he sug-
gested.

"Rugs !" exclaimed the tall man
wrathfully. "Beatin' rugs ! I'm a
decent hartisan, I am — "

'"Ere," said the little man, and he
started for the office.

The tall man watched him dis-
appear. "Hidgit 1" he muttered.

He gazed sorrowfully out of the
window for a few moments at the pro-
cession of hurrj'ing, happy New Years
shoppers; then silently he moved to-
ward the door.

"Gor-blawsted country !" he con-
fided to the falling snow as he slipped
out into the street.

CANADA MONTHLY

167

QUITE RIGHT, SO IT IS !

The Mystery of the Jade Earring

By Henry Kitchell Webster

Author oj "The Butterfly." "The
Whispering Man." etc.

Illustrated by Percy Edward Anderson

SYNOPSIS

Jeffrey, a successful artist, undertakes to paint for the "queer, rich, invisible Miss Meredith" a portrait of her dead niece taken from a
photograph. For some strange reason, the commission gets on his nerves, and he goes abroad suddenly, without ever having seen Miss
Meredith, but only her confidential agent and physician. Dr. Crow.

The story opens at the point where he returns to find his friend Drew (who tells the tale) at home with Madeline and Gwendolyn,
discussing a mysterious murder. Oddly enough, the murdered girl — a singularly beautiful woman with masses of fair hair — was found
frozen in solid ice, clad in a ball-gown which had been put on her after she was shot through the heart. Next morning Jeffrey telephones for
Drew, and when he hastens anxiously to the studio, says the portrait has been stolen. By a bit of amateur detective work, they find the
man who stole the frame and he confesses, but swears that he never touched the painting. On their return to the studio, Jeffrey learns that
Togo, his valet, had removed the picture from the frame, but they cannot find it. Jeffrey relates some of his uncanny experiences in his
Paris studio, one of which was seeing a light in his window, and on going in quietly to surprise the intruder, hears a door shut and finds a
candle still warm but — a vacant room. Jeffrey goes to Etaples to get rid of the cobwebs and regain his nerve. Returning he finds in his studio
an unfinished portrait of a beautiful girl, with the paint still wet, and giving evidence that the artist had painted her own likeness from a mirror.
Next morning the portrait had disappeared. He decided to leave Paris, and on the night before his departure was standing on a bridge when he
noticed a womran leaning against the rail. The hood about her head fell and — it was the girl of the portrait! Two years later he received
the Meredith commission. On opening the photograph he finds the face of the ghost girl of his Paris studio. Dr. Crow is announced, presumabl^y
coming for the stolen portrait. Drew sees Crow in Jeffrey's place, and sensing an unasked question in Crow's assertion that in the portrait
Jeffrey has succeeded in getting beneath the surface and has presented the living reaHty more vividly than the photograph, tells him suddenly
that Jeffrey had a studio in Paris — a year after Clare Meredith died. Was it the light, or was Dr. Crow actually paler ?

CHAPTER v.— Continued.

"I'm afraid tiie unconscious memory
theory won't work," said I. "That's
a pity, too, because I suppose it would
have been a comfort to Miss Meredith."

He turned on his smile again, rose,
buttoned his overcoat, and shook hands
with me. "I'm just as much obliged
to you, anyway. And we'll fall back
on your theory ; that the ways of genius
are past finding out. What if he did
paint a portrait of a face he'd never
seen, and improve on the only record
of it we've given him ? After all, that's
no more mysterious than writing 'Ham-
let.' "

"Do you suppose Shakespeare be-
lieved in ghosts ?" I asked.

He looked at me steadily for a mo-
ment, in thoughtful silence. "Every-
body believes in ghosts," he said.
"Everybody !"

He stood near the door, his walking-
stick tucked under his arm while he
drew on his gloves. But when he had
finished and had laid his hand on the
knob, he stopped short as if he had just
remembered something.

"There's something else Miss Mere-
dith wanted me to ask about," he said.
"I nearly forgot it."

"Yes ?" said I inquiringly.

"I wonder if I mayn't have a look
at the portrait ? I can explain what I
mean better that way."

168

"I'm afraid not," I told him. ;i
don't know where it is. Jeffrey said
something about some trouble he had
had with the frame. I don't know
whether the canvas is in the studio or
not; but T don't like to rummage."

"Of course not," he assented cordi-
ally. "It's a very trifling matter, really.
The pose of the face shows one
ear, and that is in deep shadow. But
in the portrait, just below the ear, there
is a streak of bluish-green light. Miss
Meredith couldn't account for it, and
she has been wondering about it ever
since. It looks as if it were meant for
an earring — a jade earring, perhaps.
But there was nothing like that in the
photograph."

"Of course," said I, "nobody could
answer a question like that except Jef-
frey himself. But I doubt if there's
any mystery about it. He probably
put it there on the spur of the moment
because it helped his harmony or his
composition, or some other of the tricks
of his trade. But I'll ask him, if you
like. He has your address, of course.
He can drop you a line when he comes
in and tell you all about it."

The doctor began unbuttoning his
coat and fumbling with his gloved hand
in one of his inner pockets. "I wish
you would ask him," he said. "But
when it comes to letting me know, I
wish you'd take charge of that your-

self. I never knew a genius who was a
reliable letter- writer."

He had got out his pocketbook by
now, and was fishing for a card. Pres-
ently he got one and held it out to me.

"Is it too much to ask ?" he con-
cluded. "Just a line telling what Jef-
frey says about his reason for putting
that little green streak into that shadow
on his canvas. There's my address. If
you undertake it for me I shall be sure
of hearing."

"I'll be very glad to," said I.

"Good-by, then; and thank you."
The next moment he was gone.

I stood in my tracks, staring at the
door he had closed behind him. I
hoped Jeffrey wouldn't come in for a
while. There was so much to think
about, and I wanted my thoughts in
order before I tried to tell them to him.

After a while my eyes fell to the
rug where Dr. Crow had stood while
he was fishing for the card with his
address upon it. They caught the
shine of something, half buried in the
deep nap of the rug. My hands were
trembling when I stooped to pick it up.
It was a long, pendant earring of pol-
ished jade !

CHAPTER VI.

BELIEVING IN GHOSTS.

But even as I stood there, staring
dully at the thing that lay in the palm

of my hand, and glowed dully back at
at me, with the impenetrable look of
mystery jade always has, the door
from the reception-room opened from
behind me. I put the hand with the
irring in my trouser-pocket, turned,
iind faced Jeffrey.

"Did you meet Crow ?" I asked.
I'He's just this minute gone."

He shook his head. "I heard you
liking in here as I came by the door,
BO I waited. He made you quite a visit.
^Had he anything to say ?"

"Oh, he wanted to see the portrait,"
said I. "He said Miss Meredith was
waiting for it with a mixture of anxiety
and dread."

"She'll probably have it in a few
days," said Jeffrey. "Richards seems
to have no doubt about recovering it.
He thinks he knows where it is."

"Where does he think it is ?" I
asked.

Jeffrey shook his head. "He didn't
tell me. He asked me a few questions
and jumped to a theory of his own. I
couldn't follow him. It's the first time
anything like that ever happened to
me. To be outguessed by a policeman!
I'm losing my wits, I suppose. Of
course, I didn't ask him."

He walked moodily across to his
Morris-chair and dropped into it with
an air of utter lassitude and fatigue.

I hated to begin asking him ques-
tions. Poor Jeffrey ! If the inextri-
cable tangle of coincidence, in which
we were involved already, terrified and
bewildered him, what would his condi-
tion be when he heard the rest — when
I told him the whole story of my con-
versation with Dr. Crow, and when I
showed him the thing I had just put
in my pocket ? The thing had to be
done, however.

"Jeffrey," said I, "Miss Meredith
and the doctor were terribly puzzled by
that portrait."

"Puzzled ?"

I nodded. "Jeffrey, it's more like
the original than the photograph was."

I expected his eyes to widen at that,
and his body to grow tense. Instead,
he answered indifferently enough:

"What of it ? It ought to be more
like."

"You mean, I suppose, that any real-
ly great artist sees beneath the surface
of things — depicts an inner truth
that — "

"Inner truth be blowed !" interrupt-
ed Jeffrey. "It's surfaces I'm talking
about. A photograph of anything but
a flat object is never by any possibility
" correct. You can photograph an etch-
ing or the page out of a book, or a set
of working-drawings, with absolute
accuracy, but never anything in the
round. There is only one plane in a
photograph that is in true focus. Every-
thing that comes nearer than that plane
is too big. Everything behind that

CANADA MONTHLY

plane is too small. Any competent
draftsman can correct a photograph,
and any competent portrait-painter
can paint from a photograph a portrait
that is more like than the photograph
itself."

His manner nettled me a little; all
the more because it was so rare with
him. Of course, he had some excuse
for being irritable to-day, and I might
have remembered that any sort of cul-
ture;ie talk about Art, with a big A, al-
ways made him impatient. But he had
made it easier than I had expected, to
speak about the earring.

"All right," said I. "We'll let the
inner truth be blowed as far as you like
and get down to facts. Did you do
anything beside correcting the drawing
in the photograph ?"

"Beside ?"

"Did you paint anything in it that

169

wasn't there ? Did you make up any-
thing and slap it in, just to make the
picture look better — or harmonize — or
compose better — or, well, for any other
reason, Jeffrey ?"

He was looking at me keenly enough
now.

"What do you mean ?" he asked.
"What are you talking about ?"

"Dr. Crow," said I, "expressed
some curiosity about a light-bluish
green streak in the shadow under the
ear. He wondered if it had been meant
to represent an earring — say a jade ear-
ring !"

Jeffrey straightened up now, and his
eyes were blazing. "Did he ask that
question himself ? Just that way ?"
he demanded.

"Just that way, Jeffrey." His ex-
citement had infected me now, and my
question asked itself jerkily. "Jef-

ALL THE POWER OK HIS MIXD
WAS CONCENTRATED IN THE
STRUGGLE TO REPRODl'CE AND
PERFECT A MEMORY

170

frey, was there a jade earring in the
other portrait — 'the one you found in
your studio when you came back from
Etaples ?"

He didn't answer for a full minute.
And all the while his unseeing eyes
never left my face. All the power of
his mind was concentrated in the strug-
gle to reproduce and pfcrfect a memory.

"No," he said at last. "It wasn't in
the portrait. But I can tell you where
it was, Drew. It was in the ear of the
girl who stood beside me on the bridge
that night at Paris."

"What did it look like ?" I asked
breathlessly.

Once more he took his time about
answering. His eyelids narrowed to
slits, and the contracted pupils were no
bigger than pin-points.

"There was a tiny ring which pierced
the lobe of the ear," he said, "and
below that, a small perfect sphere of
jade; below that was a long, rounded,
tapering pendant. It's as clear to me
as if I had it in my hand."

"Like this ?" I asked, and I took my
hand out of my pocket. There in my
palm lay the thing he had described.

The moment I uncovered it I re-
gretted having sprung this last mine in
so theatrical a fashion. Had I not
been as excited as he I shouldn't have
done it. Because I really feared that
the shock of this last- — could I call it a
coincidence ? — might do him a serious
injury. My own brain was reeling
with the weird, incredible extravagance
of it, and to me the whole thing came
at second-hand. What would it be to
him who had felt the unknown, undis-
coverable presence in his Paris studio;
who had found the portrait painted
there; who had seen the photograph
of the same face, and had learned that
it was the face of a girl who was dead a
whole year before that ghostly portrait
had been painted ?

I stood there for a minute, not daring
to look at him, fearing that there might
break any moment on my ears a burst
of maniacal laughter. But, utterly to
my astonishment, what I did hear was
a long, deep breath of the*most intense
relief.

"Thank the Lord 1" said Jeffrey.

He took the earring from my hand,
carried it over to the light, and sub-
jected it to a minute, careful scrutiny.
I noticed that he was rubbing a finger
over its smooth, cool surface as if the
actual material feeling ,of it were an
intense satisfaction to him. Then he
tucked it into his pocket, pulled himself
up on a high painting-stool, and hooked
his heels into the rungs. He was a new
man again. Rather, he was the old
man — the man he had been before he
went to Paris and had never been
since.

He gave his head a rueful shake.
"I've had a scare. Drew. The worst

CANADA MONTHLY

I ever had in my life. I didn't even
dare tell you how bad it was. That
will have to be my apology for the way
I treated you this morning. Now that
it's over, I'll try to make amends.
Let's go to lunch. Richards won't be
here for an hour or two."

Then, for the first time, he seemed
to notice the astonishment that had
held me speechless, but that I am sure
must have shown in my face.

"What's the matter with you ?" he
asked. "Don't you understand ?"

"I can understand the scare all right,' '
said I. "But why you should say it
is over now, is beyond me. I was al-
most afraid to show you that earring.
I was afraid it might — finish you. It
pretty near finished me."

He smiled at me — his old amused,
irrepressible smile.

"Man," said I, "the girl was dead,
and you saw her. One might have
explained the portrait, but it wasn't in
the portrait that you saw the earring.
It was in the ear of the girl herself.
And she was dead. And yet you de-
scribed the earring in the most minute
detail."

"Oh, come along to lunch." said
Jeffrey. "I'm hungry as a hod-carrier
when they blow the whistle. I'll tell
you all about it across the corner of a
square meal."

And no persuasion of mine could get
another word out of him until we were
fairly seated in a near-by restaurant
and had sent away the waiter with an
order that did ample justice to Jeffrey's
boast about his appetite.

"By the way," said Jeffrey, "you
haven't told me where you got that
earring ?"

"No," said I, rather sulkily. "As
long as you have solved the mystery so
easily without that information, I don't
see why you should want it."

Jeffrey smiled again and reached
over and patted me on the arm.

There is some sort of magic in Jef-
frey's touch. In this case it wiped
away my resentment as a sponge wipes
the writing off a slate.
"Crow left it," said I.
"Left it ! Crow ?"
"Oh, quite involuntarily. He had
his gloves on and he was fishing in his
card-case for a card with his address
on it."

"I had his address," said Jeffrey.
"His confidence in you as a letter-
writer is very limited," said I, "and he
said he really wanted an explanation of
that green streak in the shadow under
the ear. He relied on me to get it for
him. The earring must have been in
his card-case, and when he fished out
his card he dropped it. That's a very
soft, thick rug, and it didn't make any
noise."

"Crow," said Jeffrey thoughtfully.
"Crow. I wonder if he will turn out

to be the beginning ? I wonder if the
first step in our mystery lies his way ?"•

"The first step !" I cried. "Then
you haven't solved it."

"Solved it ?" cried Jeffrey. "I
haven't tried to solve it — haven't begun
to solve it."

"But," I protested, "up there in the
stuido you said you had had a bad
scare, but it was over."

"Yes," said Jeffrey. "The scare
was over and the mystery begun.
Can't you see what a relief it is to know
that it is a mystery ? What do you
suppose it was that I was afraid of ?
That I had seen a ghost ?"

"Why, something like that," said I.

"I am perfectly willing to see a
ghost," said Jeffrey, "if I can be con-
vinced that it is a ghost — an outside
ghosts-somebody else's ghost as well ,
as mine. The thing that terrified me
was that I couldn't prove, even to my-
self, that it was anything more than a
kink in my own mind — a bunch of hal-
lucinations and obsessions of my own
producing — the sort of things that
make the alienists rich.

"But now I know that what I saw
on the bridge that night in Paris was
either a live woman or an honest
ghost. I'm going to find out which it
was. Whichever it was, that earring
Crow was so curious about lets me
out. No two people ever have exactly
the same mania, and he is evidently as
curious about the thing that wore the
earring as I am."

"He or Miss Meredith," said I.

"Yes, he or the mysterious Miss
Meredith," Jeffrey assented. "For the
present, we'll consider them one person,
and that one person Dr. Crow. Now
let us try to figure out Crow's position.
This is going to be logic, which is your
department, so you will have to cor-
rect me if I go wrong."

"Crow gets me to paint a portrait.
We don't know why he came to me. I
didn't want to paint it, and he insisted.
The question is, had he any reason for
insisting, beyond the fact that his client
was rich, and that I was fashionable ?
W^e have no means of answering that
question yet. I didn't tell him where
my studio was the last time I spent a
winter in Paris, but he might have
found it out from some one ?lse."

"And if he knew," I cried, "he
might have thought that in that par-
ticular place you might see something !
He might have wanted to try the ex-
periment."

"Exactly," said Jeffrey. "But we
can't build upon that yet. That's got
to stay in the question-column. Any-
how, I paint the portrait, and the por-
trait shows some data which were not
contained in the photograph he gave
me."

He looked up at me thoughtfully.
"What did he begin on ?" he asked.

CANADA MONTHLY

171

"Did he begin with the earring ?"

"No," said I. "He began by trying
to find out if you couldn't have met the
girl — if you hadn't been in Paris dur-
ing the time she was there."

"During the time she lived there,"
Jeffrey corrected.

I nodded.

"You satisfied him that that was
impossible ?" he asked.

"Completely," said I. "It was as
perfect an alibi as you ever saw."

"And then ?" Jeffrey went on.

"He asked," said I, "if you hadn't
been to Paris two years ago."

"After the girl had died," he com-
mented.

"I pointed that out to him," said I.

"But, still, I thought he held his
breath while he waited for my answer."

"So, that he evidently thought it

possible," said Jeffrey, "that I might

have seen her after she was — dead. I

wonder if Dr. Crow believes in ghosts ?'

, "He said he did," said I.

I "What ?"

^ "He said that everybody did. That
would include him, I suppose."

"Your logic is flawless," said Jef-
frey. "But how did he come to make
that observation ?"

"It was quite casual," said I. "I
happened to say I wondered if Shake-
speare believed in them."

"Casually ?"

"Oh, yes. He said something about
'Hamlet' that put it in my head. I
suppose the subject never was very far
out."

"I wish I had seen him," said Jeffrey.

"Why do you make so important a
matter of it ?" I asked.

Jeffrey looked at me with a rueful
little frown that had half a smile in it.

"Because, my dear Drew," said he,
"if Dr. Crow doesn't believe in ghosts,
then he has got some reason for doubt-
ing that Claire Meredith is really dead.
He suspects I saw something. If he
is perfectly sure it couldn't have been
a ghost I saw, then he must know that
it is possible that what I saw was the
living woman."

There was a moment's silence. Then
Jeffrey brought his hand down sud-
denly, but softly, on the table.

"And then the earrings," he whis-
pered. "Crow has the earrings — or
he had till he dropped one of them this
morning. If it wasn't a ghost I saw on
the bridge, she had the earrings then.
If Crow doesn't believe in ghosts, then
he has seen the living woman since I
did."

"How do you make that out ?" I
asked.

"Why, you idiot," he cried, "how
else did he get them from her ? He
has them now; she had them then, un-
less she was dead then and buried and
it was a ghost that I saw. We'd have
taken a long step in our mystery if we

could be sure whether Dr. Crow be-
lieved in ghosts or not."

CHAPTER VII.

THE FACE UNDER THE PAINT.

I WENT back with Jeffrey to the
studio after lunch, although I was
uneasily conscious that my ofiice-chair
was yawning for me. Jeffrey's affairs
are always so much more interesting
than my own that there isn't as much
generosity and self-sacrifice as he
credits me with in my ready devotion.
We found Richards, the police lieu-
tenant, waiting for us.

"I'm sorry to have kept you," said
Jeffrey, "but I found I needed a square
meal."

"Oh, I didn't mind waiting," Rich-
ards assured him. "But you missed a
caller."

"A caller ?" said Jeffrey.
He and I exchanged a glance.
"Crow ?" I whispered under my breath.
"He didn't leave his name," said
Richards. "He's the rug-man."

"Oh," said Jeffrey, indifferently.
"Did he wait long ?"

"No," .said the lieutenant. "He ex-
amined the rug rather carefully and
said he'd let you know about it in the
morning."

"Which rug was it ?" I asked.
"The one over there by the door.
That was the right one, wasn't it ?"

The lietutenant asked the last ques-
tion of Jeffrev.

"Oh, yes,"' said Jeffrey. "He knew

which one it was, right enough. Do

you remember what he looked like ?"

"Why," said the lieutenant, "he was

a pretty tall, good-looking, dark — "

"Oh, you needn't describe him," Jef-
frey interrupted. "Just remember
him. You may meet him again."

The lieutenant laughed. "What ?
Is he one of your — what do you call
them — latent criminals ?"

"I don't know," said Jeffrey. "But
it will do you no harm to remember
what he looked like."

We ensconced Richards in the large
chair and provided him with a big
cigar.

Jeffrey went over to his paint-table
and began an elaborate pretense of
setting it to rights.

"Well," he asked, "any luck with
my little affair ? Are you going to be
able to get that portrait back for me ?"
The lieutenant unctuously licked the
wrapper of his cigar and favored it
with the caressing gaze of a connois-
seur before he answered. He was in
very good humor with himself.
"I have got it," he said.
"Already ?" I cried.
"The lieutenant had the right guess
this morning," said Jeffrey. "I sus-
pected as much."

"But you couldn't figure out what
the guess was," said Richards.

Then he turned to me. "I don't
mind admitting, Mr. Drew, that this
young fellow has pulled some long
shots in the crime-detecting business
that the front office has never been able
to understand. You saw one of them
yourself, and they tell me you wrote a
book about it. But when it comes
right down to cases, an old professional
thief-catcher like me has got a few
tricks of his own. Mr. Jeffrey here
might have worked his game, what-
ever it is — I don't pretend to under-
stand it — for five years and he wouldn't
have found it. But he came to me
and I put my hand on it in fifteen
minutes.

"Oh, you will see for yourself," he
went on, for both of us showed the
surprise we felt at his announcement.
"They'll bring it up in the wagon. It'll
be here any time now. But the next
time, Mr. Drew, that you write a de-
tective story, you might give the police
a little credit.

"It was near eleven o'clock when
Mr. Jeffrey made his complaint." He
pulled out a, big gold watch in a hunt-
ing-case and looked at it impressively.
"His picture'll be back here before
two. That's three hours. Mr. Jeffrey
never worked any quicker than that
himself. And, as I told you, he
wouldn't have got it back himself in.
five years."

"Oh, come," said Jeffrey, "there
aren't as many fences as that in town.
I shouldn't have known the right one
to go to first, but I know something
about them. Besides. I could probably
have advertised a reward and got it
eventually."

"You could have advertised," said
the lieutenant, "until you were black
in the face, and you could have gone
to every fence in New York City, if
you knew where they were, which you
don't, and at that you would never
have found it."

"All right," said Jeffrey. "You've
got me. I'd like to know how you
did it."

"Well," said Richards, "you've made
me ask that question a good many
times, and turn about is fair play. This
is the way I figured it out: To begin
with, pictures don't get stolen. Frames
do sometimes, and if there's a picture
in the frame, it may go along too. But
this picture wasn't in a frame."

"It seems to me," said Jeffrey, "I
remember hearing about a picture
called 'The Mona Lisa," in Paris, that
was stolen. And then there was that
Gainsborough that Pinkerton got
back."

"Oh, sure, that kind of pictures,"
said the lieutenant impatiently. "Pic-
tures out of galleries. What I mean
is the kind of pictures you paint."

To be continued.

In the Forefront

GENERAL SAM HUGHES. "THE MEGA-
PHONE MAN ;" NURSING MATRON MAR-
GARET MACDONALD, WHO KNOWS MORE
WAR THAN MOST MEN; MRS. ARTHUR
MURPHY— -JANEY CANUCK"— OF THE
WEST WESTERN— AND THEN SOME

The Megaphone Man

General Sam Hughes, the Militant

Minister of Our Militia

Department

By John F. Charteris

WHEN a man is dead, the patient
shepherd called History puts
his crook around the de-
ceased's neck and leads him,
willy nilly, to the sheepfold or to the
goatpen, according to his deserts.
After which a complaisant posterity
very seldom bothers to re-examine him.

But while a public man is still living,
still butting in and baa-ing about, it is
almost impossible to get between the
movie operators and the Associated
Press men, and find out what he is
really like.

Especially is this true of such 40-
knot an hour gentlemen as Theodore-
to-the-south-of-us, W i 1 1 i a m-'c r o s s-
the-seas and — attention please — Major
General the Honorable Sam-in-the-
midst-of-us.

We find, on the one hand, such staid
and pious journals as the Toronto
Telegram growing unbiblically vitriolic
under the caption "General Hughes —
Troublemaker," while the still staider
.Globe opines that, "He should reflect
that genius is often closely akin to mad-
ness," also that "the second quality
may be present without the first."

On the other hand — the left one
that persistently remains in ignorance
of what the right is up to — we dis-
cover the Canadian Militia under date
of 22nd October, promoting the
Troublemaker from Colonel to Major
General, and predating the appoint-
ment so as to ensure the M. G.'s
seniority over all and sundry. That
the appointee is also the appointer
may or may not have influenced the
King's Printer who set type for the
little blue appointment sheet, holding
one hand over his mouth the while.

But the fact remains, even as Sam
remains, that the new Major General

172

is undoubtedly a personage, and the
large crowds recognize the fact wher-
ever the private car, "Roleen," carries
this stem-gazing, quick-saluting, blue-
caped man of whom Lord Roberts
said: "in organizing the Canadian
Overseas Contingent, he displayed a
driving force and a military genius
without a parallel in history !"

The Nation's Drillmaster is — of,
course — an Ulster Orangeman. And
a Methodist at that. He comes of the
farthest-wandering, the hardest-hitting,
loudest^shouting race in the world.
And when you add to this such a strain
as comes from the French blood of his
greatgrandfather General St. Pierre,
who was killed at Waterloo together
with two of his sons — why, you'd ex-
pect just the handsome scrapper that
the Hon. Sam has turned out to be,
sword in one hand, maga phone in the
other.

At school, Sam used to come home
with all the athletic medals and cups
and things buttoned up under his coat.
When he grew old enough, he tried
teaching. He was a good teacher.
But Jarvis St. Collegiate chiefly re-
members him for the time he chased
his biggest pupil twelve times around
the yard, in order to administer a pin
in the middle of the back, same having
been the treatment meted out to a
smaller boy by the culprit.

In 1885, H'ughes became the editor
of the Lindsay Warder and held down
the job, held up the town, held out his
views, held in — or didn't hold in — the
Ulstersaintpierre temper for twelve
smoking years. We would we had a
copy of that Warder I It must have
warded sulphurously.

In 1892 there had occurred a bye-
election in North Victoria. Just who
it was that suggested Sam to the public
we don't know. But we can guess.
Anyhow, the public acquiesced and
Sam became a m.ember, which was all
the foothold needed by a bom climber,
with his eye on the political Mt. Rob-
son.

When the South African War ex-
ploded itself onto a well-red map, Sam
offered his services. Was declined.

Went as a freelance. And made good.
He pitched into the problem of rail-
way transport up from the Cape;
became assistant to Inspector General
Settle on lines of communication ;
later, Chief of the Intelligence Staff to
the same General; after which he was
captured by Sir Charles Warren to per-
form similar duties in Griqualand and
Bechuanaland. That the busy war-
rior ever returned to his native heath,
indeed, is due solely to the conviction
that the heath needed him.

When the present government came
into power, the new Minister of Militia
had a blazing opportunity to exercise
his peculiar gifts. He has been long
called "the one Canadian worshipper
of Mars, war clouds being his pet
scenery." And very gallantly did he
set forth to inculcate his ideas.

Canada was busy in her wheat-fields.
Canada was real estate-crazy, Cobalt-
and-Gowganda mad. To Canada, the
word "drill" meant oil, not armies.

But Colonel Hughes was one of the
few Canadians who saw that the Kiel
Canal wasn't built to punt in, and that
the Krupps weren't making fireworks
for the Toronto Exhibition. He saw a
German beyond the sights of his pet
Canadian Rifle. And he was so busy
seeing Germans and attempting to
make the Dominion see tandem with
him, that we find a 1912 correspondent
of the Ottawa Free Press narrating in
shocked tones how he ac-tu-al-ly wan-
dered into the vice-regal box at the
theatre, wearing an ordinary business
suit and — ye gods and gazeteers I — a
necktie, red as War !

In December of 1912, London was
positive that she had him pinned down
to contribute 8130,000 toward her
Federal Square, on the ground that
his soldiers were to parade there. But
the Board of Education, nose-deep in
the Wars of the Roses, refused to grant
prizes to the cadets of the town, under
the Strathcona Trust, because, for-
sooth, they didn't believe in militarism.
Whereupon, London promptly had a
wire from Sam that made her turn the
other cheek and then do it all over
again.

Under date of April 22nd, 1914, the
peaceloving Toronto Globe enumerates
and anathematizes the various items
of the Colonel's expenditures, calling
him, "the most reckless spender of
money in a government — " — but you
know what the Globe wotdd say when
it got on that subject. Anyhow, Sam
was proposing to Sammify some $10,-
500,665 of good Canadian cash, and
the Hielander's Hymnal sang out that
"The Colonel must be anticipating
drill, summer and winter, day and
night, rain or shine." Parenthetically
we would ask Constant Reader to com-
pare this statement with the news
columns of the same journal six
months later, and put down a
white mark for Colonel Sam.

Perhaps the Militant Minister's
most crusadeful doings were done
what time he donned his anti-can-
teen armor. There had been a
law against liquor which Sir
Frederick Borden had allowed to
slip into conventual seclusion.
When the Methodist Orange-
man took over the Militia De-
partment, however, he cleaned
it out from garret to cellar, with
the accent on the cellar. Officers
were held responsible for the
ignition-quality of a private's
breath, and those who sat up
nights composing resignations',
got anticipatory postcards that
such had been taken as read.
When remonstrated with,
Hughes would remark, "Change
^L^he law then, you fools. While
^^ne law stands, I stand, here
^K- hereabouts, Gooderham and
^PVirts to the contrary notwith-
^standing. Are we down hearted ?
NO !"

But it was not until all the
prophet's war clouds exploded
into thunder at once, and the
Kaiser launched his ultimatum
slap in the face of an astounded
world, that Hughes got his real
chance, and that we, alas, descend
into the congested and clamorous
^treets of such immediate history that
can't yet hear ourselves think.
That the Minister of Militia in six
ieks collected, full armed, target-
■actised and finally transported some
,000 men from Valcartier to Salis-
bury Plains, is about the only indis-
putable fact to be ascertained. As to
whether he did it satisfactorily, scan-
dalously or only fairly well, depends
on whether you listen to the Minister
himself, to "Jack Canuck" and the
Telegram, or to the Globe.

Hold on. There's one more fact
to be jotted down in the "indisput-
able" column.

So far as appointments went, there
was no graft. Sam holds his sword
in one hand and his megaphone in the

CANADA MONTHLY

other, as before stated. There is no
littlebehindhand.

A colonel in the Wewontsay Dis-
trict didn't want to volunteer in blank,
according to orders. He wrote to
headquarters asking a Colonelcy, re-
minding the Minister at the same time
that he was the most influential Tory
in his locality. The ex-editor took
out the pen he'd used on the Warder,
on or about July 12th, and told the
petitioner that it was a long, long way

GENERAL HUGHES WATCHING THE CANADIAN
CONTINGENT PUTTING TO SEA

to St. Helena, but he'd furnish him
with the necessary asbestos transporta-
tion any time he wanted it.

W^hile the Colonel had Valcartier
to run and run on about, the cities saw
but little of him. Once the Contin-
gent had sailed, however, and the
Colonel had come back from England
he took up his residence in the"Roleen"
and began to talk.

He is a boon to reporters, this mis-
chief-making Minister, and a bug-bear

173

nightmare-wish-he-wasn't-there to his
staff, who have to sound the retreat
so often after their chief's remarks.

He spent a day in Toronto. The
press ■scribbled wads of copy. The
staff set out to censor. The Exhibi-
tion Grounds were white with the
fragments that remained.
He came again to Toronto.
But of the Hughes-Lessard incident
it is still unsafe to talk save in whispers,
with the smoke consumer on.

The Herald-Telegraph, being down
in Montreal out of harm's way, re-
marked as follows:

"We confess to some amusement at
the spectacle of the queenly Toronto
tearing her hair and weeping and
gnashing her teeth just because Major-
General, the Honorable Samuel
Hughes has found it necessary to
administer to her a little public
admonition. The General could
apply a wet shingle to Halifax,
take Quebec by the scruff of the
neck, and even make Mon-
treal ridiculous in the eyes of
the Dominion by publicly
forbidding her to do a thing,
and privately assisting her in
the doing of it. All this he
could do, but he was still
'darling boy' in Toronto. But
now — !" •

The Evening News (Mon-
treal) was even more ribald.

"After the recent military
sensations in Toronto the un-
fortunate impression may go
abroad that foot and mouth
disease has spread into this
country.

"Earthquake shock in To-
ronto ?

t "Oh, no; 'twas only Sam
Hughes and the Toronto Tele-
gram expressing their ideas at one
and the same time."

As to what the Telegram really
did say — but we don't want to
have to run an expurgated edi-
tion expressly for churchmembers.
Samuel is now engaged in recruiting
the remainder of the 108,000 men he
says he wants. He came to London
and talked to the Canadian Club in
language that gave ample excuse for
the Advertiser' s allegation that he
said he'd saved the first contingent
from German destroyers by his refusal
to accept Kitchener's statement that
the convoy was sufficient, until he'd
been assured j ust how and when and how
much each ship could do in the gun-line.
To be sure, Sam the Smoother took
a few of the crinkles out of the Minis-
ter's words by the time the reporters
got around to interviewing him in
regard to the usual contradicting of
his speech. But that doesn't go for
much with the present writer who was
there and heard him.

174

In the evening, however, the General
left the megaphone down on the shunt-
track with the "Roleen" and did a
"'stunt with the sword instead, to such
good effect that the Opera House was
filled to its top note, and everybody
talked Canadian Contingent for days
thereafter, to the great benefit of the
recruiting officers.

A single incident, characteristic to a
degree, may conclude this sketch.

There was a plot unearthed in Lon-
don, whereby the Minister was to be
shot by four Turks whom the ix)lice
got tucked away the day before their
intended victim's arrival.

"What do you think of it ?" asked
the reporters.

"Why — er- — bully for them," said
the Honorable Sam; "Did they have
Ross rifles ?"

Nursing Matron Mar-
garet Macdonald

A Natural Born Nurse Who Has

Seen Service on many

Battlefields

By Madge Macbeth

THERE are comparatively few of
our soldiers who have seen any
more actual service on the field
of battle than has Nursing
Matron Margaret Chisholm Mac-
donald.

Born in Bailey's Brook, Nova Scotia,
she comes from a country which has
produced a startling number of illus-
trious Canadians. Pictou County was
the home of the late Sir William Daw-
son, Principal of McGill University, the
late George Grant, Principal of Queen's
University, the Rev. Dr. Gordon, its
present Principal, President Falconer,
of the University of Toronto, and too
many statesmen of prominence to be
named at the moment. It is a Scotch-
Presbyterian community, all save a
small isolated section which abuts
Antigonish, and which is ninety-nine
per cent. Scotch Roman Catholic. To
this faith belongs the family of D. D.
Macdonald, County Councillor, for
'Pictou.

His daughter, Margaret, was born
with an aptitude for nursing. She pre-
ferred to play with sick dolls, was
interested in the ailments of all the
dependents about the place, and was
not bowled over by the sight of a gory
pose. After very youthful school days
in Bailey's Brook, she went to Halifax
to study, and from there she went to
New York to train as a nurse. Her
course was finished just about the time
of the Spanish-American War, and she
offered her services to the United

CANADA MONTHLY

K ^ CHILD MISS MACDONALD PREFKRRED TO PLAY WITH
SICK DOLLS RATHER THAN THE WELL KIND

States Government. They were
accepted, and she saw service at
Montauk Point. Later, Miss Mac-
donald was made a member of the
Spanish-American War Nurses' Asso-
ciation, and the American Red Cross
Society.

At the outbreak of the South African
War, she volunteered to the Canadian
Government, and was accepted, leaving
with the first Canadian Contingent for
the front.

The story runs that Miss Macdonald
was attending to a wounded soldier
under fire, when a piece of shell struck
her, tearing her arm. Unmindful of
herself, she continued to dress the
soldier's hurt, even though an officer
who rode by and saw what had hap-
pened, urged her to get herself attended
to. It is said that some time later,
when the circumstance was brought to
the notice of a prominent general, and
when he commended her pluck and
bravery, she drew herself up, saluted
and replied, "It was nothing, sir! I
am the daughter of a Highlander!"

Miss Macdonald came home with
several other nurses, only to find that
unpleasantness had again broken out
and she was needed a second time in
South Africa. She was one of the first
women in Kimberly after the coming of
the relief expedition, and was present
at the taking of Pretoria.

She then took a Post Graduate
Course in New York, and following
that, went to Panama. Perhaps this
noble piece of heroism will be better
appreciated when it is understood that
at the time mentioned, the camps and
hospitals — the very Isthmus itself —
were rank with pestilence. No one,
until the coming of Colonel Gorgas, had
dreamed of stamping out yellow fever;

those who dared live in Panama either
deficHi it or were resigned to the possi-
bility of dying with it. It was in all
truth and literalness — The Yellow
Peril.

In order to keep the place made grim by
the hand of Death as bright and cheer-
ful as they could, pots of flowers were
made to bloom in every window. Elach
pot stmjd in a vessel of water, thus not
only attracting the mosquito but pro-
viding the most desirable breeding-
place within reach of those whom they
meant to attack!

Sister Macdonald escaped yellow
fever but contracted malaria. She
went home, recovered and returned to
Panama. Hers was the wonderful
experience of seeing one of the most
dreaded diseases of the tropics abso-
lutely stamped out; she saw twenty-
five hundred panic-stricken men throw
down their implements of work and
leave the Isthmus at the outbreak of an
epidemic — and she saw the last case of
yellow fever which has been known at
Panama !

Seeking her native shores once more
she was appointed Nursing Sister of the
Canadian Permanent Army Medical
Corps Nursing Service, November '06,
with the rank of Lieutenant. She is
saluted just as any other Army Officer
would be. In 1911 the Militia Depart-
ment of the Canadian Government sent
her to England to study the administra-
tion, organization and mobilization of
the Queen Alexandra Imperial Nursing
Service, which stood her in good stead
a few months ago when she had to
mobilize her small army of nurses who
left with the first contingent. She and
Matron Ridley are in charge of the
nurses — approximately one hundred —
who volunteered from Canada.

Mrs. Arthur Murphy,
"Janey Canuck"

A Woman Whom the Great Northwest
Delights to Honor

By Michael J. Svenceski.

NEVER heard of a woman bron-
cho-buster? No? WTiat's
that ? Impossible you say ?
Far from it, stranger. Sure
and it may look impossible but — Who
is it, you want to know ? Well, she's

Mrs. Ar , but first let me tell you

about this" wonderful Canadian woman
and a few, just a few of the many things
she has done to make a wandering
waif called Fame come home to stay.
This great Western-Canadian has
broken more than one broncho and
the peace and placidity -of many a
slothful politician in Alberta. And
she has done many other things besides.

What would you think of a woman who
"hiked" and "mushed" thousands of
miles through pre-railway country in
the far north and then called it "a
jolly outing?" — a woman who inter-
ested herself in the new towns of
Alberta and helped plan them; a wo-
man who is concerned in and working
for a dozen or more societies of various
kinds; who reared a family; made a
home; wrote books, and scribbled
cheques f.or charity; conducted coal
mines, pink teas, sold farms and
hospital tags; invested in timber
Umits and tr , just a mo-
ment and I'll tell you who
it was. It was none other
than Mrs. Arthur Murphy,
"Janey Canuck," who is mak-
ing Canadian history by being
one of the greatest personali-
ties among the many famous
Canadian women of her time,
so great, that King George
has just now conferred upon
her the decoration of Lady
of Grace of St. John of Jeru-
salem. Her home is in Ed-
monton, the farthest north
metropoUs in America, but
she is a native of Ontario,
being born in Cookstown in
Simcoe County.

In the modem book of
revelations. Who's Who and
Why, — you will find that she
went to school at Bishop
Strachan's School, Toronto.
She was married to Arthur
Murphy, M.A., and has two
daughters. She came to Ed-
monton seven years ago and
since then has had little time
to go back, and then only
to tell what a glorious place
the Far West really is.

Mrs. Murphy holds the
Presidency of the Canadian
Women's Press Club; she is
Convener of Committee on
Peace and Arbitration,
National Council of Women
of Canada; Vice-president of
the Board of Control of the

mitorium for Tuberculosis,

rovince of Alberta; only

sman Member of the Board
Directors of the Edmon-

^n City Hospitals; Founder

id Honorary President of
Edmonton Women's Canadian Club;
Honorary President of the Ladies' Hos-
pital Aid of Edmonton; Member of the
•Ontario Historic Society; Member of
the Daughters of the Empire, and of
the Canadian Handicrafts' Society.

And yet, when I was ushered into
the study in Mrs. Murphy's home in
Edmonton, I did not find, as one
might have expected, a woman, weigh t-
■ed down with the numerous cares of

CANADA MONTHLY

office, and burdened by a terrific load
of responsibilities. Nor did I find her
wearing mannish clothes, eye-glasses
and close-cropped hair, as literary
women sometimes do. Neither was
she smoking a cigarette.

Far from it, the woman who came
in to greet the interviewer was dressed
in plain black, but there were red
roses in her cheeks and the way she
gave you her hands reminded the
interviewer immediately that this was
the^West and full of that well-known
western quality, hospitality.

MRS. ARTHUR MURPHY

Whose chief hobby is clieerfulness

111 at ease ? Home itself could not
have been more comfortable for, in a
few moments, Mrs. Murphy made one
forget all self-consciousness. She chat-
ted about the country, and the city,
asking how the interviewer liked it,
if he were going to stay long and what
were his plans ? Never once did she
mention anything she herself was doing.
In fact, it appeared that your cares
and worries were the onlV ones that

175

could worry her and that she, herself,
was quite willing to shoulder them if
necessary.

Then the telephone bell tiqkled and
a maid came in to say:

"Mrs. Murphy's wanted on the
phone." With a word to be excused,
and a promise to be back immediately,
the lady being interviewed hurried out
to answer the call.

"Yes, this is Mrs. Murphy speaking."
Quiet ensued for a few minutes, then :
"Yes, I see." More quantities of
quiet; then:

"Oh ! I am so sorry.
Really I am, but, although
I will promise to help you
in every way possible I
couldn't accept — yes. What
is that ?" A longer period of
silence.

"No, I am sorry," this with
firmness which was instantly
relieved with, "but I'll tell
you what I'll do. I can help
you indirectly in some work-
ing position." The other
end of the wire received the
conversation and must have
pleaded for a long time but
Mrs. Murphy finished with :
"Oh ! yes, I'll assuredly
support it, but you see, I
can't take such a position
as you offer. ^Yes ! Good-
bye," and the receiver got
the hook in double-quick
time.

As Mrs. Murphy re-
turned to [the room the
interviewer raised his eye-
brows, sensing a little epi-
sode which might throw
some light on the character
of the interviewed. True to
his newspaper instinct, it
did. Mrs. Murphy smiled.
"They called up to ask
me to take the presidency
of a new industrial society
which is being formed here.
I worked a long time to get
it started but just because
of the interest I showed, I
don't want to take a fore-
most position. Office
hampers one's output of
work," said Mrs. Murphy,
dismissing the subject and
turning to other interesting
She spoke of the great land
re love so much, Canada.
She discussed the Old North-west, but
when she turned to the question
of th6 New North, that vast land
of opportunity and optimism, her
speech took on a prophetic aspect.
Tlirf>ughout the interview, no matter
what topic was under fire, she aws
always interesting and amusing, fiU-
mg her recital with whimsical say-

topics,
which

176

inig*> and quecrly turned phrases.

The clock struck five. Two hours
had flown like a few moments. The
interviewer begged to be excused and
hurried away but before leaving he
received an invitation to call again.

"We're going to have a bonfire out
in the yard this evening, so be sure
to come," concluded Mrs. Murphy,
closing the door. "What celebration
is on, I wonder," thought the inter-
viewer, and decided to call and find
out.

At the appointetl hour the scribbler
of notes was on hand, and the maid
showed him into the back yard. There
grouped around the big fire, were Mr.
Murphy the two young ladies of the
family, and Mrs. Murphy.

"What is the celebration ?" asked
the knight of the pad and pencil, com-
ing to the point immediately following
the intrcductions.

"Oh ! The death of King Rubbish,"
answered Mrs. Murphy laughing.
"Didn't you see the signs on the street
cars ?"

"Yes," replied the interviewer
quickly.

"And their command was ?"

" 'Don't forget. This is Clean-up
week' ". The phrase tumbled out
fresh from its impression by the street-
car advertisiug.

"Yes — well this bonfire is the Clean-
up- — " and, looking into the next yard,
the interviewer saw another bonfire
and in the yard farther on, another
and everywhere the smoke of the fires

arose to heaven the sacrifice of

King Rubbish — municipally instigated.
Edmonton's big Clean-up work was in
progress, due directly to a society in
which Mrs. Murphy is a virtual leader.

"Don't you love to watch a big
Tacnfire ? — I dc- — " said Mrs. Murphy,
bringing the joumahst back from his
survey, as she poked the fire into a
brighter blaze. "I think," she con-
tinued, "that all our household like to
watch a blazing fire — all except Lena,"
and here Mrs. Murphy laughed.

"The cook ?" questioned the inter-
viewer.

"Yes !" went on Mrs. Murphy.
"One day Lena dropped a coal in the
yard here and when the fence caught
fire, and the dry grass was blazing
high, Lena walked into the drawing-
ret m where a meeting was in progress
ar.d calmly announced the fire just
as she would have said, 'Dinner is
served.' Lena is a foreigner."

"You have interested yourself in
the foreigners, haven't you, Mrs.
Murphy? Written several stories about
them, too ?" interrupted the man of
notes.

"I think it's the prime duty of a31
Canadians to help the newly arrived
foreigners as much as they would tire
Canadian bom. We must make tbesm

CANADA MONTHLY

over into good Canadians; educate
them and bring them up to our stan-
dard, and not let them drag us down
to theirs. We must imbue them with
the love of work, and the spirit of
cheerfulness. And the greatest of
these things is cheerfulness."

"Why optimism ?" and the scribbler
smiled as he said it.

"Now, young man," began Mrs.
Murphy, "I warn you. Don't start
me on a favorite topic," and she shook
a finger of warning at the interviewer.

"All right then, Mrs. Murphy, let
me ask you about "

"Literature?" questioned Mrs.
Murphy quickly.

"Which, Shakespeare's or yours,"
the scribbler could not' help saying.

The warning finger went up again
quickly, but, even as it rose, the great
woman broke into a cheery laugh say-
ing something about "pranks of youth."
She herself is youthful — youth always
is optimistic and who is more opti-
mistic than Mrs. Murphy ? Her
personality will afifect even the least
impressionable of people. Take that
story that comes from the great Peace
River country.

A well-known editor went up into
that country a year after Mrs. Murphy
had passed by. He stopped at a
settler's home and begged the settler's
wife for a drink of water. They gave
him milk and while the thirsty news-
picker drank, the homesteader tried
to entertain his guest with his choicest
experience.

"Yes," drawled the Northerner, "a
body does see a 'tarnation lot of people
passin' along this trail. There's maybe
two a day besides the regular freights.
Why, there's all kinds come by. But
the one we remember best is a woman.
Wonder now if you know her, maybe ?
Funny kind of woman, she w^as too.
Makes you feel when you're talking
to her as if she's more'n six feet. Her
voice is big and gentle, and her mind,
is big too, I reckon — "

"And her heart," chimed in the
settler's wife, who would have said
more had not her lord and master
demanded the floor.

'T reckon so. But when she's gone
and you look down the trail, why she
ain't more'n five feet- D'ye know her?"

^"Who is she ? What's she do ?"
asked the newspaperman. "Squaw ?
Settler's wife ? Missionary ? W'hat's
she look Tike ?'"

"Squaw ?'' The settler's face wore
the look of a man who had witnessed a
■safcralege. "Say, she ain't no squaw,"
he said. '"'You don't know that wom-
an. Why she just talks and makes
folks feel better, that's all. Ever
know what it is to take a nip of some-
thing good after you've heen mushing,
•mushing on the trail for hours ? Well,
that's w^at she's Tike. She's the most

cheerfullest person I ever see. Why
when she struck our shack here, why
Mary, was — well, that don't matter.
But anyway, that woman sure did us
good. Let's see, what's her name now?
W'hat was it, Mary ?"

"I just can't think of it, but it was
Murray or Mur — " began the wife
frowning in her endeavor to recall the
name.

"Yes ! that's it. Murphy. Know
anybody by that name ?"

"Mrs. Arthur Murphy — Janey
Canuck."

"Yes ! That's the whole thing. A
wri ter- woman . "

"Why yes: I've heard of her," said
the newspaperman . ' 'She writes abou t
this country and writes well." '

"Don't know how she writes but
she is sure some fine woman. I'd
rather see her a-coming up the trail
most any day than the freights or the
mail. Wouldn't you, Mary ?"

There had been a family row in the
settler's household when the woman
passing on the trail had come in.
There had been a sick baby, a dis-
pirited hu.sband and a half-sick wife.
The household was practically in ruins,
both mentally and materially. But
when "Janey Canuck" came in she
brought the germ that cures all ail-
fnents — cheerfulness and optimism.
Before she left the house that day, the
baby was better, the wife was well, and
the settler in good humor for the first
time for weeks. In that settler's home
to-day, you'll find a little oil lamp that
sits on the mantle-piece over the fire
place. It is only a cheap lamp. The
settler bought it for his wife after Mrs.
Murphy left. It was a luxury in those
days of candles. The settler is rich
now — a railroad runs by his farm, but
the little lamp .sits on the mantelpiece,
lit only on great occasions, blinking its
message of cheerfulness and good -will.
It is a monument to the joy of_ life
that one woman brought into a home,
and the joy-bringer was "Jane\-
Canuck." Were it not too flippant
the lamp might be called a shining
monument. But let it p)ass; a monu-
ment is a monument whether it is a
lamp or a stone.

And this brings us to the fact that
Mrs. Murphy is interested, among
other things, in preser\-ing Canadian
land-marks and in recording the things
of to-day for the benefit of those who
come to-morrow. The historic land-
mark called Eort Edmonton was doom-
ed for destruction a short time ago
but Mrs. Murphy stepped in and its
Judgment Day passed.

Only last week a new arrival in
Edmonton asked a citizen two ques-
tions in one mouthful :

"Who is the mayor of this town ?
Who runs the city ?"

Continued on page 191.

With Our Contingent Abroad

THE lads in khaki, each one
in his own way, are draw-
ing mind pictures of the
homefolk and the things that
were the daily routine last year.
By the time this arrives you'll
be shaking the snow off your
furs and huddling up close to
the radiator. Possibly you think
about us and shiver at the
hardships you imagine us as
suffering. The hard times may
come soon, when we reach the
spot two hundred miles away,
where the British and French
and Belgians are fighting in
water-soaked trenches; but at
present we're as cheerful as
though we were back home by
the big base-burner, or open
fire, digesting New Year dinners.
We have become very well ac-
quainted, in fact friends, with
out-door life ; and we've almost
forgotten that people can wear
any clothing other than khaki,
or live and move and have their
being except as the bugle com-
mands them. We feel that
we're becoming real soldiers.

Our daily life cannot be
called very luxurious or easy,
but it is certainly healthful, and
with a sound digestion, warm
clothes and plenty of exercise,
one can be happy. There is
one drawback to camp life in England,
and that is the weather. Somebody
up above must have turned on the
tap just after we landed, and forgotten
to turn it off again. We've had only
about three days without rain since
we landed, and we've been here almost
a month. We plough through so
much mud and water that "Gyp the
Louie," one of the many humorists of
our company remarked to-day: "Say
fellows, what's good for corns on the
'soles of your feet ?"

So far we've been lucky in having
the heaviest showers at hours when
we're off parade. The rain in Eng-
land, if more persistent, is not so heavy
as the rain in Canada, and one can be
out on a rainy day for an hour or two
without suffering much inconvenience
beyond a soggy great coat. Greased
boots and puttees form a thoroughly
efficient protection against wet feet.
If the shower becomes a deluge we are
usually ordered off parade into our
tents before we get too uncomfortable.

To-day was rather typical of what
England presents us with each twenty-
four hours. In the morning the
sky was covered with dense grey

By Private H. R. Gordon

anV- here's THE KIXD OF AT- THE-FRONT COMFORTS OUR^OYS

. ^ MAY EXPERIENCE THIS WINTER

just

clouds, and a high wind made the
tents rattle. We got up by candle-
light — reveille is at 6 a. m. — slipped on
our boots and sweaters and drowsily
answered the roll call as the orderly
sergeant deciphered the names by the
light of a smoking lantern. We had
our usual constitutional, a brisk run
around the officers' tents, in which
there was beginning to be a stir, past
the patient lines of blanketed horses
and back over the muddy parade
ground to our tents. We washed in
the icy water at the taps two hundred
yards away, arranged our kits, folded
our blankets and swept out the board
floors of our tents. These board floors
are a great convenience, and insure
dry and comfortable living when the
ground is cold and soggy. Most of
the battalions in the contingent have
them.

Breakfast at 7.30 a.m., consisted of
bacon and hot tea, along with the
bread, jam and cheese, which are on
hand for all meals. One man from each
tent goes up to the cook-house to get
the supply for himself and his comrades,
in a big iron pot — a "dixie."

After breakfast we had a little

breathing spell to clean rifles,
polish buttons and grease our
boots. About this time "news-
ies" from London come up with
the "pipers," beseeching us to
read and learn "all abaht it."
So we read: "In the north the
battle continues with great
violence. On the rest of the
front there is nothing to report,"
and similar tantalizing scraps of
news. Curiously enough, we
seldom talk much about the
war. It is safe to say that one
would hear more discussion of
it in almost any Canadian
street car than in the whole
of our camp. We become pre-
occupied with tWe work nearest
hand, and are usually too busy
to bother thinking out infallible
schemes for destroying the Ger-
man armies and navy and cap-
turing the Kaiser.

At 8.45 we fell in. Fifteen
minutes later we were out on
the broad slope of a valley, at
drill. Over here we do not go
in for the barrack square type of
drill. Every evolution we go
through is an evolution that
will come in useful when we go
to the front. We get a great
deal of skirmishing work. One
minute we'll be marching along at ease
in a long column, chatting and passing
jokes up and down the line, or singing —
the next, at a whistle and a wa^"e of
the captain's arm, the column melts
suddenly into what appears to be an
unorganized mob, all running at top
speed. Ten seconds later the compact
column is spread across a front of two
hundred yards in a straight line. At
another whistle and a shake of the
captain's fist, we move forward at the
double, section commanders in the
rear exhorting the laggards in unpar-
liamentary language to "keep up
there." Yet another whistle and the
captain raises his arm — everyone dives
to the ground. Men here and there
wriggle a few feet to take advantage
of some slight depression in the ground.
The company is ready for action.

To-day we had this sort of drill,
with variations all morning. We
practised advancing to the attack, with
scouts out ahead; and connecting files
to pass the information from the front
to the supports and the reserves. We
use semaphore signals for this. Dif-
ferent positions of the arms indicate
different letters of the alphabet. One
letter we all learned early, was "B,"
formed by holding the right arm in a

178

horizontal position. Already a large
proportion of the fellows, having a
bowing acquaintance with semaphore
signalling, and being of practical minds
realize how useful a speaking acquaint-
ance would be, have decided to master
t-he System.

How Veterans Teach the

Recruits to Battle

with Bayonets

Half an hour every morning is devot-
ed to bayonet drill. Nearly every day
the news from the front includes the
story of a hand to hand struggle. The
bayonet seems to be as important as
the bullet in this war. Every com-
pany, in our battalion at least, includes
anywhere from a dozen to a score old
soldiers. They get out in front and
show us the various guards and thrusts.
We follow these movements as well
as we can, and occasionally have duels
— using the rifles without bayonets
fixed. It is a little hard on the hands,
especially when a projecting foresight
from the rifle of one's opponent re-
moves the skin of one's knuckles, but
we enjoy it. We find it very similar
to boxing, and it's excellent exercise
for the arms and body.

Morning parade was over at noon.
Ten minutes later we were getting our
skilly inside us. The one staple article
of diet that has been good uniformily
is the "skilly," or Irish stew. The
boiling makes the meat tender, and
the carrots and cabbage make the
soup quite palatable. A mess tin full
of skilly, a hunk of "punk," as we call
our bread, plenty of jam, a long swig
at the water bottle make a meal fit for
a king, if the king was as hungry as we
always are after a morning's work.

English weather became obtrusive
when the bugle blew for afternoon
parade. A fine rain, driven by squalls
of wind made us glad to turn up our
greatcoat collars. We slopped off
through the mud to the ranges for
musketry practice. The targets we
have to shoot at are not the squares of
white with black bullseyes in the
centre, familiar to all of us, but blots
of khaki the size of a man's head and
shoulders, on a back-ground of dull
green. Another battalion was using
the range when we arrived. We hud-
dled together in little rings to escape
the searching, wind -driven rain. Did
we grumble ? We did not. We com-
pared notes of our experiences on
leave, or had little intimate controver-
sies about the homefolk, some mak-
ing sensible and others utterly ridi-
culous guesses as to what they were
doing. "The boss would be giving me
blazes for taking an hoiir and a half
for lunch," said one clerk from a big
Toronto warehouse. "I wonder who

CANADA MONTHLY

had to pay for the pool table to-day ?
I used to be the goat when I was
home." "How'd you like to be back?"
I asked. "Not for a million bucks,"
was the reply.

At last the order to move came, and
we ploughed back to camp, with the
rain stinging our faces. We plunged
into our tents, hung up our sopping
greatcoats on nails "obtained" from a
shack in course of erection nearby, and
set to work to fix our rifles. They
receive rather more grooming than we
do ourselves. A rifle neglected now,
may mean a helpless man in the firing
line sometime in the future.

A more usual programme for the
afternoon is a route march, with full
kit on. The big knapsack on our
backs and the haversack and water
bottle at each side, make us look like
AValking Christmas trees, but the
weight of the equipment is so dis-
tributed that one doesn't feel it much.
Yesterday afternoon we did a little
ten mile hike. We were off across the
close cropped turf by two o'clock. We
swung along for a mile or so, up a long
slope, past a clump of hardwoods, with
the leaves still on them, through a val-
ley, to a muddy lane with "out of
bounds" signs on both sides of it. We
went through the foot deep mud as
best we could and had our first halt
on the other side. Pipes and cigarettes
were lighted and our platoon was
entertained by a humorous monologue
by our sergeant, "Hub." We heard
all about the doings at a York county
farm when a bunch of village cut-ups
undertook to get in the hay, and how
"the best little pal in the world, fel-
lows," is waiting at home for him.

The Pace the Pipers Set

Proves Strenuous for

"Short-Legs"

'Shortly after the march was resumed
we struck a real road; smooth, hard
macadam, unbroken by tractor engines,
and — free from mud, thank Heaven.
Our ancient rivals, the 48th of Toronto,
were swinging along to, "The Cock
of the North," shrilled out by two
pipers with a gusto that would
make piper Findlater green with envA'.
We stretched our legs, and made some
speed up that hill to get away from the
sound. The pace became hotter and
the short-legged fellows had to break
into a dog-trot to keep up. "There's
the last of London out of me," wheezed
a veteran, back the preceding night
from three day's leave to the city of
fog! We saw the Highlanders halt for
a rest, and as we got our five minutes
breathing spell we sat down in a field
overgrown with yellow mustard, and
dotted with orange poppies — and this
in the middle of December.

The five minutes up, we were pound-
ing the macadam again. We passed
through Shrewton village, a single
narrow street shut in by brick walls,
neat little boxes of houses, and bams
with thatched roofs. The thatch,
weather-worn to a rich drab, gives the
villages a curiously "other world"
appearance. There was a long hill
outside the village. We had been
marching at a pretty good pace, be-
tween four and five miles an hour,
and didn't slow down for a mere trifle
like a quarter mile hill, so were pretty
thoroughly tired when we reached the
summit. We started to sing, first
"Tipperary," then "I've been working
on the railroad," and "There's a girl
in the heart of Maryland." We forgot
all about feeling tired and footsore,
and almost before we knew it, we were
scrambling through the gap in the
bridge a few hundred yards from our
camp.

In the evening the Y. M. C. A. is the
centre of camp activities. Last night
the wind was blowing a gale, and a rain
was coming down in bucketsfull. We
doubled across the pools of mud and
water on the parade ground, into the
smoky brilliance of the big marquee.
The place was jammed. The Y. M.
C. A. and the Canadian War Contin-
gent Association have combined to keep
the tables supplied with stationery,
and periodicals. About seven o'clock
the usual evening concert began. At
one end of the marquee the Y. M. C. A.
people have a piano, and enough
benches to accommodate a couple of
hundred men. To-night they've been
singing, "Rule Britannia," "Who Kill-
ed Cock Robin," "I want a Girl Like
the Girl that Married Dear Old Dad,"
"I Wonder How the Old Folks are at
Home," and a clever parody about
"The Gang We Left Behind." We
have solos too, good, bad, and rotten.
Some of them are old songs resurrected,
and new to most of us. A retired army
captain is giving us a little talk — one
could scarcely call it a sermon — on
clean living. A good many of the
chaps in camp, away from home for
the first time, find these talks very*
helpful. There are no frills, no dodg- I
ing — just plain straight talk. The i
Y. M. C. A. men over here are con-
siderably older than our "Y" men at
home, and quite a number seem to be
ex-soldiers. They take their own time
about doing things, but seem to
arrive just the same. About this time,
we're thinking about a cup of tea and
a bun at the canteen, and then to bed —
This last process isn't as simple as it
sounds. Nine of us and a grub box
occupy a circle fourteen feet in dia-
meter, and there's usually a young
riot before every one is settled. "For
the love of Mike, move over," calls

out Dick, "there's only six inches for
Corpie and me to get into." "Get
out," sings back John, "why you short-
sighted shrimp, you've got half the
tent:"" "Wallop him with the mallet,"
•advises Hughie. "Who asked you to
butt in, you piece of cheese," roar both
disputants. The rest of us lie back
and laugh — if we did the same on the
vaudeville stage we'd be famous.

We have had a great many rainy
nights, but so far, the tent has leaked
seriously only once. I wakened —
Hughie's howls for somebody to throw
him a life-line would have stirred the
dead — to find that we were reposing
in a growing lake. We lit candles,
cursed under our breath, rubbed our-
selves down with towels and got into
dry clothes. And we didn't even
catch cold — our outdoor life having
made us almost immune from any
kind of sickness.

We have had one or two special
occasions to break the monotony of
ordinary drill. Early in November the
whole contingent was inspected by
the King, the Queen, Lord Kitchener
and Lord Roberts. It was not spec-
tacular. Each battalion lined the road ;
the Royal party drove up in auto-
mobiles and walked down our ranks.
The King, slightly stooped, his face
deeply lined, looked exactly what he
is — the hardest worked man in the
Empire. He seemed determined to
know everything about each individual
unit, and we heard him asking ques-
tions in a firm decided voice. Queen
Mary was much more gracious and
beautiful than her photographs por-
tray her. Then came Kitchener, who
is big, and looks the confidence-inspir-
ing, solid, steel-willed man, that he is.
He strode along, not moving his head,
but apparently seeing everything. Be-
hind him was Lord Roberts, whom we
were so soon to lose. "Bobs," who
had, and has, a larger share of the
Empire's heart than any other soldier.
The fellows marveled — eighty-two
years of age, yet marching ahead as
erect as a lance, and looking every
"inch the soldier he was— and then
some. We cheered them all tremen-
^dously as they drove off, cheered like
Bisciplined soldiers, but each enthusias-
fec individual fairly tingled with pride
Hiat he was British and could fight
or his Empire. The procession of
Jiotor cars was concluded by a car
lull of Scotland Yard "Bobbies." We
kave them a cheer too. and the red
face of the sergeant in charge glowed
irith the grandest grin you ever saw.
Most of us have had our leave by
bis time. We have all found out
iiat however cold and distant the
inglish may be to strangers, they're
be most hospitable people in the

CANADA MONTHLY

world when they think you're all right.
And the little bronze maple leaves on
our caps and collars are a sure pass-
port. Nearly everybody was only too
anxious to do something for the Cana-
dians. Some of the theatres admitted
our fellows at half price. At the
hotels we were given the best rooms.
And we were always bumping into
people who thanked us for coming
across to do our bit for the Mother
Country. I was leaving the station
at Bath, and was looking around in a
rather puzzled way, when a fine look-
ing man of the "middleclass" type
came up and said: "Can't I do some-
thing for you ?" He directed me to
the street I wanted, then added:
"Won't you come home and have din-
ner with me. I'd be proud to have

179

chance to renew acquaintances with a
sure-enough bath tub. One day after
revelling in this luxury, we went over
to the Trocadero and had a meal —
such a meal. Words couldn't do that
fillet of sole and pheasant anything
near justice. We orderd things we
knew would take longest, so we could
tantalize ourselves and thereby ap-
preciate it more when it arrived. The
only fault with the dinner was that,
at the most interesting stage, that
orchestra persisted in playing patriotic
airs, through which we had to stand
at attention.

Saturday night we strolled up some
of the side streets. It seemed as if
the world and his wife were out, and
everything from a sofa to a chestnut
was offered for sale at the stalls on the

ENGLISH WOMEN BREAKING THE MONOTONY OF CAMP FARE BY BRINGING FRUIT
TO THEIR CANADIAN COUSINS

you. We think it's magnificent the
way you fellows from Canada have
come over."

On one of our eventful days of leave,
we were at a hotel in London when a
charming elderly woman came over
to our table and said : "Do you think
people thank you splendid chaps
enough, for giving up everything and
coming over here to help us?" Hughie,
the spokesman of the crowd said:
"We haven't done anything yet, but
we hope to. However, one thing our
whole contingent is going to be firm
about is that the German army must
not be entirely annihilated — we want
two soldiers saved, because we want
to use them in moving pictures."

One of the best features of leave is a

curbstones. The "Ward" in Toronto
on an August evening is a miniature
of it. Nobody, there at least, seemed
to be worrying about the outcome of
the war, or the possibility of a Zeppelin
attack.

We dined in a little French restau-
rant. Our waiter fairly bubbled over
with enthusiasm at serving men who
were going to help restore Alsace and
Lorraine. When we were leaving he
insisted on shaking hands all 'round,
and exclaiming to each one "Vive la
France, Vive I'Anglettere, vive la
Canada." How long, I wonder before
the little Frenchman can shake our
hands and know that his hopes have
been realized, and what will the toll
have been ? God alone knows.

Modern Forts vs. German" Guns

PARIS AND IIS CIRCLE OF DEFENCE AGAINST POSSIBLE GERMAN ATTACK

SUPPOSE CANADA SHOULD
BE INVADED BY GERMANY ;
WOULD AN EXPENSIVE SYS-
TEM OF UP-TO-DATE FOR-
TIFICATIONS THEN PROVE
TO BE WORTH THE OUT-
LAY?

By ''R. B."

Illustrated from photographs

ONE of the great questions now
in the melting pot of the Euro-
pean War is the practical value
of the modern fortress. Have
the expenditures of untold millions
been justified by results ? Were Ver-
dun and Liege and N^mur and Prze-
mysl as ''worth while" as their archi-
tects anticipated ? Only the end of
the war can bring a satisfying answer,
for these are times of experiment, of
"trying-on processe;s," of surprises and
battered prophecies.

If any pet theory must go by the
board, the implicit confidence of
nations in their "impregnable" forti-
fications must be selected for the first
sacrifice. Liege was impregnable as
judged by the hitting force of ordinary
artillery. So was Namur. But the
Germans lumbered along their forty-
two-centimetre siege guns, dragged
them into position by traction engines,
and let fly shells that, as shown by
photographs, blew out excavations
large enough to engulf a three-story
dwelling. The impregnable fortress
immediately became a mere stum-
bling block, troublesome and awkward
in its way, but marked for inevitable
destruction. This was not so, of
course, in the early days of the assaults

180

on Liege, for at that time the heaviest
German artillery was still far to the
rear and the Belgian resistance grossly
under-estimated. But from the day
of the arrival of Germany's monster
mortars before any of the fortresses,
the reduction of one position after
another seemett to be only a matter
of time. Will the military engineers
of the future be able to construct an
impediment capable of withstand-
ing the assaults of mammoth artillery
and vicious explosives ? The odds
certainly favor the man behind the
siege-gun.

Inland Canadians, familiar perhaps
solely with the mouldering fortifica-
tions along the international boundary
line, are in danger of under-estimating
the stupendous advances during the
last twenty or thirty years in per-
manent military defences. With the
exception of the Island of Orleans,
Halifax, Esquimault and perhaps one
or two other points, the Dominion's
long coast line has been left vulnerable
to attack. Mutual agreement and
good -will, stronger than the strongest
treaty, have relieved the line between
the Dominion and the United States
of the necessity for armed defiance.
For these reasons, therefore, the purse
of Canada and the mind of Canada have
been spared the perplexities of arma-
ment shopping and fortress planning,
and the gravest military occupation
of our Federal Parliament has been to
listen to Colonel-the-Honorable and
then tease him and taunt him in half-
hour diatribes.

@ ^ m

What Would it Cost Canada to

Construct a Few of These

Modern Forts ?

Just by way of preparation for the
fort-building propaganda that may
sweep across Canada at the close of

the European War, may I intimate that
the cost of these questionable bul-
warks runs from one to ten millions
of dollars. Heligoland, of course,
cost probably thirty or forty millions
to build. Koenigsberg and Przemysl
(pronounced Przemysl) drew enor-
mous .sums from the national ex-
chequers. But, taking the average of
fortresses the world over, it is probable
that from two to ten million dollars
apiece would cover their initial cost.

Then, too, the items of cannon and
ammunition run away with more
millions. A single 12-inch rifle costs
.$45,000, its carriage $41,000, and the
emplacement of concrete $60,000, a
total of .S146,000 — for a mere scrap
of fireworks that may be put out of
action in a jiflfy.

In its architectural form, a fortress
of the modern day has scarcely a point
of similarity to the fortress of fifty
years ago. Indeed the protective
devices against artillery fire on land
have of necessity kept the same pace
as developments in naval armament.
Where the wooden frigate stimulated
the manufacture of heavier and dead-
lier guns and explosives, which in turn
stimulated the construction of stronger
battleships — a cycle of endless com-
petition — so the invention of high-
angle guns and new explosives for land
employment compelled the radical
revision of the old-fashioned fortifica-
tion. Suddenly the high stone wall
and the towering "keep," so thrillingly
sufficient in the brave days of old,
came tumbling down through the
exigencies of the new day and the new
deviltries. The wide ojjen forts, like
Fort Henry at Kingston and Fort
Garry as it once stood, would be as
hopelessly and helplessly out of date
in a 1914 conflict as if built of straw.
Two well-placed shells aimed from
five miles out in Lake Ontario would
toboggan Fort Henry down the slope
as prettily as if arranged in miniature
for motion pictures. So with any fort
of similar type. The maximum of
hitting power, to match which they
were constructed seventy or more
years ago, has been superseded by
such titanic standards of artillery fire
that military architects and engineers
simply discarded the thought of an
evolution of fortress types and set to
work to build a new defence on the
basis of new and puzzling necessities.

The fortifications at any of the great
European centres which have come
to attention during the present cam-
paign are of complex forms and con-
tain everv device <vhich has been

proved by practical warfare. The
forts, properly speaking, have a cer-
tain uniformity and, while not erected
by the same engineers, were planned
to offset the same dangers and to
neutralize offensive instruments of
known destructive power.

The Forts of Tradition Were Built

Above Ground; But the Forts

of To-day Are Dug

First of all, the old notion that
height and ugliness of walls are a factor
in resistance has given way to a theory
of quite an opposite character. The
up-to-date fort of France, Belgium
and Germany is actually the most
inconspicuous feature of the landscape.
Excavation takes the place of height.
There are no "parapets," no "grinning
cannon," no flag poles. When a mam-
moth gun is fired, the spurt of powder
is invisible; the gun itself never leaves
the darkness of a casemate; the gun-
ners and ammunition carriers and
officers carry out their duties from the
depths of a cave — indeed in construc-
tion, equipment and operation there
is no possible analogy with the fortress
of tradition.

The steel-riveted walls of stone, once
the hope and salvation of the be-
leaguered, are to-day merely supple-
mentary to other and more efficient
materials, such as banks of earth,
concrete and nickel amalgam. No
longer are large military bodies station-
ed within the walls, a half company
sufficing for the average redoubt.
Lines of cannon poking their noses
above the barriers are out-of-date al-
most as bows and arrows. What sent
them into limbo was the introduction
of smokeless powder in 1890, since
when the discharge of guns has no
longer been accompanied by the tell-
tale puff of smoke. This, in turn led
to the shielding of artillery from obser-
vation, and so we find the disappear-
ing gun adopted by all countries.

A common design of modern fort-
ress, of which those at Antwerp, Liege,
or along the French border are vari-
iations, places a girdle of infantry
redoubts at from four to six miles from
the edge of the defended centre and at
intervals of from one to two and a half
miles apart. According to the size of
the redoubt the defending force con-
sists (jf from half a company to half a
battalion. Between redoubts are
lined up howitzers and machine guns
at spots affording the maximum of
natural protection or gi\ing facilities
for artificial barriers. Direct firing
fortress guns are also employed to
reinforce the howitzer fire. The trans-
Jjort of ammunition along an extended

CANADA MONTHLY

line of fortifications is, naturally, a
vital question, and has been sometimes
solved by building a trench railway
that makes a circuit of the batteries.
It will be seen that the scheme of
modern military science is to halt an
enemy's advance with gun fire rather
than with moats and unscaleable walls,
as was once the case. To silence the
guns means the capture of the fortress
almost as easily as walking into a
department store.

^ m m

Why the Defenders of Liege Were

Able to Withstand the Kaiser

for Many Days

How the defenders at Liege and
Verdun were able to withstand the
German attack was indicated in de-
spatches in the most fragmentary and
vague fashion. When it is stated that
instead of storming a set of stone
barriers, as in the Franco-Prussian and
earlier wars, the Kaiser's hosts found
themselves face to face with a chain of
covered emplacements or holes in the
ground from which belched a thousand
mouths of fire, and against which their
ordinary artillery had small oppor-
tunity to land a fatal shot, the German
delay was not so surprising. Before
Liege lay a countryside swept clear of
trees, buildings, and shrubbery that
could protect an invading force from
the full fury of the guns. The for;
tresses themselves were practically
buried in the earth, with only slight
projections where stood the gun and

181

observation towers. These towers
were built over with thick steel cupolas,
so strong as to ricochet the best-
aimed shot. About the emplacement
was massed thirty feet of masonry and
iron with three feet or more of earth,
and against such barriers the blasts of
any but the Kaiser's greatest artillery
had little immediate effect. The even-
tual success of the forty-two-centimetre
guns invented by the Krupp factory
is now a matter of history. Until such
gigantic engines entered the struggle
however, Liege and Namur more than
justified the anticipations of their
builders.

Has the Forty-two-Centimetre Krupp
Sounded the Death-knell of the
Fortress Builder's Long-
studied Art ?

What sizes or designs of guns were
mounted at Verdun or other points
of fiercest conflict is, of course, hardly
a matter of common information.
Similar European fortresses, however,
and many of the excellent structures
along the United States seacoast con-
tain mortars 13 feet long, 15 tons in
weight, requiring 125 pounds of max-
imite (three times as powerful as gun-
powder) to toss a projectile a distance
of three miles. The modern 12-inch
rifle, a frequent equipment, is 40 feet
long, weighs 50 tons, and delivers a
thousand pound shell for which it needs
520 pounds of powder.

-A ':

^^.^"^

f'^]j

..IJ

% '

W^m

.-^^M

IF' " ' — T^fti^T^^^ "^j^M

THIS IS THE TYPE OF HEAVY HOWITZERS THAT THE CANADIAN "TOMMtES"
WILL FACE

182

CANADA MONTHLY

L-JERE is 1915— "the yearof trouble,"
^ ^ for which the old chap who has just
given up the ghost was forerunner or
precursor. On goes the war, the hor-
rible world-war, until we have become
half used to reading terrible news of
atrocious, of inhuman suffering. Time
and again in imagination, in odd flashes
of memory, of what might well seem
but a picture of war, or a sham war
that occurred years ago in Cuba, one
has seen the whole horror of what
happens in the trenches in Europe, of
lonely deaths deep in the rich grain
fields and little woods; of maniac
women and old men mumbling among
the ruins of their homes, of lost children
crying for lost mothers. We have
been full fed with war and all it's
brutalities and atrocities, yet we are
beginning a New Year with it. And
the end ! Who may tell it If, as is
predicted, all nations will take a hand
in it, may we not be fast approaching
the last Battle, that of Armageddon ?
Meantime the best way is to Mark
Tapley through it, and that is exactly
what Tommy A. is doing.

BOBS

IN no sense irreverently or vulgarly
^ do we call the splendid little man
who died in France in the early weeks
of November "Bobs," but rather with
a big love filling the heart. It was the
good fortune of the Pedlar to have
had, once in life, a hand-shake from
Britain's biggest Empire-builder, and
to see him invested with the cloak or
insignia of Saint Patrick in Dublin
Castle in 1897 in Company with
H. R. H. the Duke of York, now our
own King George, who, as he will
never see this, will, I take it, forgive
our placing his name after that of
Britain's dead hero.

What a day that was ! Fine and

gay and sunshiny, the streets lined
with people, important personages in
levee dress and gold lace, popping in
and out of carriages and the flower of
Irish beauty, — believe me it is the
real thing, ("Bravo !"from the man of
the Crossroads who insists on reading
over my shoulder) ready to do honor
to St. Patrick, the Duke, and "Water-
ford Bobs." Irishwomen as a rule
are tall and graceful and wear their
clothes well, and here, on every side,
one saw the piquant combination of
deep blue eyes and black hair, the
blonde aux yeux noirs," or the red-
headed western girls with the dark
eyes of their Spanish pirate forbears.
No paint, or powder there and for
why should there be since the fairy
gift to an Irish colleen is a cheek like
the rose and a skin like "new milk."

EARL ROBERTS AND ST. PATRICK

\/fY word ! I can see as I write the
great Hall of Saint Patrick, the
sun streaming through the lofty win-
dows, the banners of the Knights hang-
ing in grand array, the prettiest girls
in the world crowding the beautiful
room and — well — just as fine men as
went the other day from Valcartier to
Salisbury Plain, waiting with eager-
ness the events which presently began
with the solitary call of the bugler.
Then the drums beat, — not as now —
not with the death thrill in them, but
gay and loud and jauntily, till the
band drowned them with the Anthem
of Empire. Silence, then six trum-
peters announced with a blare of
glorious noise the approach of Royalty.
First came the investiture of the
Duke of York, our present King, and
then, what one Irishwoman from
overseas was awaiting with racing-
heart^ — Bobs ! One happened to be
standing among a group of Lord

Roberts' Irish relatives, and there were
reasons that brought about a con-
versation, since one happened to be
slightly acquainted with one or two
of them. And what excitement and
with what a dear, soft "brogue" did
a lady cousin of his chatter about
him, their great, big, wonderful little
man ! Silence again as uprose the
the Grand Master to proclaim Her
Majesty's wish regarding Lord Roberts
who, under the title of "The Right
Honorable and Most Noble Lord Sir
Frederick Sleigh, Baron Roberts of
Kandahar in Afghanistan and of the
City of Waterford in the Peerage of
the United Kingdom, one of Her
Majesty's Most Honorable Privy
Council in Ireland, a Baronet of the
United Kingdom, Knight Grand Cross
of the Most Honorable Order of the
Bath, Knight Grand Commander of
the Most Eminent Order of the Indian
PLmpire, Victoria Cross, a Field-Mar-
shal in the Army, Commander of the
Forces in Ireland, Mast of the Royal
Hospital of Kilmainham," was pre-
sently fetched like a bad little boy
from behind the door and brought in
between two elders for punishment.
He looked so little and so manly in
his trailing blue cloak, and yet so big
and brave and sturdy. And the cousin '
was crazy, dear soul, with joy and
pride and she told us he was to take
tea with them somewhere in the
Rothmines* Road and that "ever so
many people were coming to be pre-
sented to him," just to hold that
valiant hand for a moment and look
into the clearest blue eye that ever
shone in a man's head. In a moment
it was all over. Bobs in his blue
cloak which seemed to extinguish him
for the moment trailed down the hall.
His blue banner swished three tirnes
as he made the round of the Chapter,
then the band crashed, the trumpets
sounded, the drums beat a merry tan-
ta-ra-tan-ta-ra ! and the brilliant
assemblage drifted to the streets where
Erin's tears were falling. She is al- j
ways laughing uproariously, or weep- I]
ing, my beloved Eire. There was a
great shouting for carriages and ancient
gold-laced personages, whose broug-
hams had got lost somehow, might be
seen gathering up their red coat-tails
and scurrying to shelter along with
many a lace petticoat.

And what pretty ankles the Dublin
girls have ! "Faith an' you never |
said a truer word than that last," says
the crusthore over my shoulder. And
now, as Kipling says, "Three Hundred
miles of cannon spoke when the Master-
Gunner died."

But "Bobs" is not dead. Like Wel-
lington, Drake, Nelson, and the rest
of a gallant company, "Bobs" is im-
mortal !

PRONUNCIATION OF WORDS
TT seems desirable that there should
■*■ be some concensus of opinion with
regard to the pronunciation of words
in ordinary use. There is no good
reason for diversity, and there is much
to be said for uniformity. I am speak-
ing now of course of what may be call-
led ordinary newspaper English, and
that, I take it, is the ordinary language
of most of the English speaking races.
I shall be met at once by the assertion
that the 170 odd millions who read
newspapers printed in English do not
all pronounce what they read in the
same way. Let a Scotchman or a
Welshman or an Irishman or an Ameri-
can start to read out the war news to
his wife and they will each read it
rather differently. Still, there are
some words on which all are more or
less agreed. There is that word, for
instance, that has been of late on
everybody's lips — the word "allies."
People will put the accent on the first
syllable of it, notwithstanding that by
an overwhelming majority British
philologists have determined that it
should be on the second. Not only
the philologists but the rank and file
of the Empire — that rank and file
which in these days is being welded
together as never before in the dread
fires of war — these have chosen always
to accent "allies" in the same way as
"alive" or "alone," viz., on the second
syllable. It is not in accordance with
British Empire usage to say "dee-feet,"
or "ree-cess," or "add-ress." In each
of these words the accent should be
on the last syllable. I know that in
some dictionaries — notably in Web-
ster's — we are frequently given two
pronunciations either of which we may
use. But for my part I would rather
have a dictionary that does not trim
in this way and try to run with the
hare and the hound at the same time.
I like a dictionary that gives you just
one pronunciation and sticks to it.
This is perhaps a small matter to
mention in the face of the terrible
events that are making life a continuous
atmosphere of catastrophe. But for
people with any sort of an ear for the
niceties of language a mispronuncia-
tion of that ennobled word "allies" is
as bad as a discord in music.

iTHE BATTLE OF PRAGUE

D Y the way, speaking of music, does
anybody in these days remember
"The Battle of Prague," an instru-
mental piece that our grandmothers
used to play on the piano with great
gusto.

Many an early Victorian girl in
white muslin, ringlets, and hoops, sat
down at the piano at an "evening
party" such as they used to have in
those days, and felt that now she
would have an opportunity of showing

CANADA MONTHLY

what she could do. How diligently
she had practised that piece at her
boarding school, and even since her
education was "finished," to the great
admiration of her parents. The young
gentleman who begged the privilege
of turning over the pages of her music
was attired in a long-tailed coat, tight-
fitting trousers, an embroidered waist-
coat, and a white or black stock, so
high that he could scarcely look over
it. How agitated they both were !
How Miss Victoria felt her heart go
thump as she struck the first full,
thrilling cords ! By the end of the
second page, the young man's hand
trembled with sympathetic excitement.
This was indeed a vivid representa-
tion of war. For the "Battle of
Prague" was nothing if not descriptive.
It did not leave you to your imagina-
tion either, for scattered over the
staves there were words that told you
when it was a "charge of cavalry," the
"bringing up of artillery," or the
"cries of the wounded," that were being
portrayed. It frequently settled the
business of any susceptible young man
who happened to be turning over the
fair musician's pages. If he did not
propose the same evening, he at any
rate uttered such words of abject
admiration as made Miss Early Vic-
toria's innocent maiden cheek "mantle"
with ingenuous blushes. In those days
maidens' cheeks always "mantled."
If they didn't "mantle" they were
"suffused." Dear old days !

PICKLES

r\F course you have put down, or is
it "put up" your pickles: but a
belated Pedlar has left this task to
the last. Forgive my mention of it,
but war or no war, pickles must be
made. Many a woman would struggle
to mate her pickles even though she
felt she would soon have to take to her
bed for the last time. Hence the
smell of the boiling vinegar and spices,
dear to the nostrils of the feminine
head of the household if she has been
brought up that way. Of course she
may be above pickles. Her mind may
dwell on higher things, such as Brown-
ing or Maeterlinck. Or she may be of
the haughty and languid variety suit-
able for sitting back in an auto and
looking superior. Not for her any-
thing so vulgar as the tender and crisp
pickled onions or the celery piccalilli.
But the thoroughbred housewife does
not despise those same comestibles,
tearful though the job of peeling onions
may be. Yea, she sliceth the purple
cabbage with hearty vigour, and is
friendly to the chow-chow that is made
when the tomato is green, not to men-
tion the small and succulent cucumber.
Nor will she fail to possess many a
special recipe of her own for the mak-
ing of these delectable condiments.

18^

Sometimes she is rather jealous and
exclusive about these same recipes,
and is chary of giving them even to her
nearest and dearest friends. They are-
"her" pickles and she has got a name^
for them. She feels that her pickles-
form one of her assets. Why shoulcf
she share her knowledge and experi-
ence with every troUoping jade that
happens to come along ? Let her get
her own recipes.

FRIENDS IN WAR TIME

(^LEANING house late in the Au-
tumn, one spent days poking about
the lumber in the big attic. It is a
task we love. All the memories of all
the years seemed to be stored in the
garret. Here are the trunks that have
travelled the world over. The old
Elephant, drooping and gray, which
has been thro' "wars alarums;" the
newer basket trunk which has carried
a trousseau and the crape of mourning.
The little cabin boxes which have
accompanied you on many a sea trip,
and have seen you in all the discom-
fiture of sea-sickness — the suit cases,
kit bags, bonnet boxes that carried
your necessities and your fineries, here
they are covered with luggage labels:
reminders every one of a life of travel,
adventure and romance now fallen
into the quiet of the grey years, but
once so vibrant with joy, so bitter with
grief — so golden, so gay ! And rooting
among forgotten things one came upon
the hat worn through the Cuban war,
a frightful piece of head-gear with
which we once terrified the staid young
clerk who officiated behind the desk at
the uptown New York hotel where we
registered the day of landing back into
what we call "civilization."

Not for dollars would we part with
the little old ruin that fell out of a
bandbox yesterday. Sitting on the
dusty floor with the crumpled bit of
straw and ribbon, the years unfolded
solemnly, the great gates of the Past
opened, and we slipped in to wander
awhile up and down the never-to-be
forgotten ways where we gathered the
roses and the rue. Crushed is the
crown; the brim is warped into sar-
castic curves, the bow, save the mark !
is flattened in a stale and dusty pan-
cake sort of way. And yet

One remembers the day it was
bought in a little milliner's shop in
Key West, and the day we first wore
it — or rather the night. It was when
the first wounded came back from
Cuba. We saw in inward vision the
hopeless looking ship — the torchlight,
the crippled lads — the dead — the lone-
ly, awful dead. We remembered that
night the Red Cross Yacht put out
with us on board for Santiago trying
to Cross the Gulf in a Long Island
pleasure craft ; the tooting of the press
boats the deep voices of

184

the Monitors bidding us G<k1 speed !
and outside — with the harl>our mined
— the wreck — the lying in the pit of
the gray sea until the dawn !

They were playing Tannhauser on
the flagships, little clown hat, the
night you and I sailed into Guan-
tanamo Bay; and the gray old hulks
of Ceavera, we saw them too, and San
Juan, and "Bucky" O'Neill you re-
member, shot in the mouth and spin-
ning like a top before he fell— And
coming home ! the hurricane that
battered you, little Bowery hat, the
pest ship, the mountainous, gray,
lonely seas, the dying and dead men
. . . . And then to be laughed
at in the New York hotel until we told
the men reading their papers and using
their toothpicks in the hotel rotunda
that we were just back from the war

and — and it was then I

think we broke down, and you didn't
shade eyes that were weeping when
the men stood up and lifted their hats.
Go back into your crazy bandbox —
little old army hat — you and I have
been through too much together not
to keep together now to the end.

HOW LONG, O LORD !

T^HE world has been drenched in
^ blood by land and sea — When will
the command "Halt !" ring down the
lines ? Unfortunate women of the
warring nations pay war's toll with
their hearts. It is apprehended that
the Kaiser may take his own life in
the hour of overwhelming defeat which
is most certainly approaching. It
requires strength of character for a
sane human being deliberately to take
his own life. The Kaiser can cheer-
fully sacrifice the lives of his people —
even of boys of fifteen. But note how
careful he is to have his own person
fully protected ? The "blonde beast"
is surely large within this thing which
masquerades in human garb.

THE TRAITOR

PVERYBODY is talking Nietzsche
^ and Bernhardi, when they ought
to be reading and quoting from the
Bible of Germany which was written,
by the way, by an Englishman, or
Britisher rather, who can trace his
ancestry back on one side to English
parentage for a couple of hundred
years, and on the other to good Scots
blood, by name Houston Stewart
Chamberlain. This hater of his own
race and all pertaining to it is the man
who is responsible for the "Kultur"
that is smashing nations and making
widows and orphans by the million.
His book "The Foundations of the
Nineteenth Century," written twenty
years ago and only recently trans-
lated by Lord Reresdale, has been the
Bible of Germany. The present gene-
ration has been brought up on it.

CANADA MONTHLY

The Kaiser presented a copy to every
school in Germany. Nietzsche's so-
called "philosophy" is but a book of
fairy tales compared to the teaching
of German conceit and vanity con-
tained in the volume written by a
traitor to his race and his blood.
Nietzsche, who spent the last five
years of his life walking like a beast on
all fours, and eating off the floor — was
a brainless ass, alongside the astute
Anglo-Scot who has lived from his
childhood in Germany and preache<l
the immeasurable superiority of the
German in every phase of human
activity. He is a man of vivid men-
tality, and wide learning, yet he has
taught only contemptuous arrogance,
insane vanity, and Super-manism to
the foolish Germans. Forget Niet-
zsche, and the rest. Study the Brit-
isher, Houston Stewart Chamberlain,
and you will find the key to present
day German Kultur. Culture ! let us
never use the word again. It hurts
the ear.

"THE DESTROYER."

A dwarfish thing of steel and fire,

My iron nerves obey ^

The bidding of my crafty sire.

Who drew me out of clay, »

And sent me forth, on paths untrod.

To slap his puny clan;
A slave of hell, a scourge of God —

For I was made by Man.

When foul fog-curtains droop and meet

Athwart an oily sea;
My rhythmic pulse begins to beat;

'Tis hunting time for me.
A breathing swell is hardly seen

To stir the emerald deep;
As through that ocean-jungle green

I, velvet-footed, creep.

-And lo ! my prey, a palace reared

Above an arsenal,
By lightning's viewless finger steered.

Comes on — majestical.
The mists before her bows dispart;

And 'neath that Traitor's Gate,
The royal vessel, high of heart.

Sweeps, queen-like, to her fate.

Too confident of strength to heed

The menacing faint sound,
As from their leash, like bloodhounds freed,

The snub torpedoes bound;
She does not note them quartering wide,

Nor guess what lip is this,
That presses on her stately side

Its biting Judas kiss;

Till with a roar that frights the stars,

Her cracking timbers rend;
And lurid smoke and flaming spars

In one red storm ascend; '
Whose booming thunder drowns the cries

Of myriad souls in pain.
Where tossed on turbid waters lies

My quarry, torn in twain.

Awhile I watch her, half in fear;

There needs no second blow;
A full-gorged lynx that leaves the deer.

My hunger filled — I go.
The stricken monarch may not mark

What foe her trust betrayed.
For swiftly as it came, the bark

Slinks back into the shade.

A will mart strong than sttel or fire

Controls my tigerisli play
My crafty, hundred-handed sire

Who dragged me forth from clay.
He, too, claims kindred with the clod.

Through some diviner plan.
Half imp of hell, half child of Cod,

The murder-angel- Man."

LITTLE ECONOMIES

ALL our lady friends are talking
economy these days. "You know,
the war, my dear !" some of them say in
a vague sort of way. "We really must
economize." One dear soul is econ-
omizing on sugar. She buys brown
now, instead of while sugar, and then
she went wild over a sale that occurred
in her town the other day. She bought
piles of useless remnants, mouse traps
by the half dozen because they were
only two cents apiece, cheap gloves —
that shocking economy !— by the pack-
age, and extraordinary kitchen utensils
she would never need. Next day she
groaned over the price of starch, and
declared that her grocer who used to
give her three of something for a
quarter, now gives only two.

Most people have what they call
their pet economy. Many men de-
pend entirely on charity for their
matches. You will see a man address
another, a complete stranger, and ask
him for a "light." They have every-
thing else ready for their smoke, but
depend on the benevolence of the
public for their matches. Others are
bootlace mad. They take short views
of life when it comes to bootlaces,
seeming to regard such necessities a
sort of deadly extravagance. The>'
hang on to a bootlace until it grows
gray and snarls itself up in knots of
vexation at working overtime. In a
moment of temper it snaps, and our
economist expends time, labor, breath
and expletives knotting the broken
ends together and so saving his penny.

We know women who regularly
economize on the collection plate in
church. They are absorbed in prayer
when it makes its dismal little round.
Such a one will pay a fancy price for
her winter hat, but she will economize
on the wretched beggar who asks a
coin for a meal or a drink — yes, a
drink — at her door. It is sometimes
charity to give a cold and trembling
wretch a coin though you know he will
spend it on a glass of beer. And we
refuse, not because we are particularly
good, but to make the wretched man's
need the necessity for our economy.

Well, well, Lloyd George has put a
penny tax on a pint of beer for the
man, and three pence on a pound of
tea for the woman — and presently no
doubt, our own fatlierly Government
will do likewise with ourselves — all to
buy a world-peace which would never
have been disturbed had not a crippled
madman flung his crown into the ring.

CANADA MONTHLY

LOUIS HOW'S POETRY

QOME poets splash their souls on
leagues of sky. They write heart's
blood stuff, vivid, often painful, incom-
plete at best — greatest, perhaps, when
least finished. They live and write
simultaneously, and the result is sel-
dom drawn to scale or subjected to
the rules of art and the size o' the
frame. Other poets are miniature
painters, makers of careful, exquisite,
unforgettable little pictures, finished
to the last sunkiss on the least curl.

That's the kind of poe ry that you
find in Louis How's slender volume,
"Barricades" (Sherman, French &
Company, Boston). Read it when
you're quiet, when you have a drowsy
summer-sunshine feeling, or when the
snap of the pine log lulls your mind
into restful contemplation of life's
finished minutenesses. You can taste
each separate word. You can pick
them up, jewel-like, one after the other,
on their cord of melody. You can let
them purl themselves through the
remotenesses of your brain. Then
you can let them all slip back again
into one perfect, charming whole,
whose patiently-forged workmanship
hides itself in its own completeness.
This is particularly true of the sonnets,
whose form demands exact handling
before everything. Take this one:

A little cottage on the ocean shore,

Where we were happy, where we were alone.

At night the wind might wail, the water
moan,

But we within were happy as before.
On man and nature too we shut the door,

Had no companion.ship beyond our own.

How far away the forms of fear were flown!

How quiet hope! We wanted nothing more.
Our rnusing fancies flickered with the fire,

While we were sitting silent, hand in hand. .

And as a flame flares up ancl disappears.
It all is ashes now. Ancl my desire

<^ioes turning back and listens on the strand

The ocean murmurs louder than the years.

It has always been my idea that the
O. Henry method of concluding a story
on the top note, ouglit to apply to
verse also. This is strikingly carried
out in Mr. How's work. Almost invar-

iably the last line carries the thrill.
Watch for it in the lyric "The King of
the Golden Mountain":

The King of the Golden Mountain

Is very weak and grey,
He sits by the garden fountain

And watches the sunlit spray.

He hears in the water-splashes

The sounds of lusty noise,
And under his lowered lashes

Are visions of vanished joys.

The prince, in a heat from hawking.

Draws near with wary tread,
And troubles the peace with talking:

He wishes the king were deadr

In "Moonlight on the Roofs" Mr.
How gets the deep tone of the city, a
thing from which miniature-painting
poets generally shrink. As the vague
sense-picture of moonlight is the one
he wishes to leave, rather than the
semi-sketched night figures, he returns
to repetition and diminuendo in his ■
last lines:

No quieter the moon shines down
Upon the country than the town.
The passers in the streets to-night,
Who hum of love, or peer in fright, —
And never heed the far-off hoofs.

The motor whizzing fast and shrill, —
If they would look, could see the roofs

That lie there silvery and still.

But criminals, and homeless folk,
And those that only just awoke
And silent from a secret bed
With noiseless parting kisses fled,
Have many other thoughts to think

Besides of moons that hang aloof
And make the sleepy windows wink

And scatter silver on a roof.

And here's a little one called "Tier-
garten," which is delicate enough to
set in a locket and hang on a thin gold
chain :

The chestnuts drop their leaves of gold,
The Sunday sunshine's nearly cold,
An old man looks with tender eyes
Upon a half-grown girl, an<l sighs.

THE LIFE OF AN AUTOMATON
" VLZ-KSBLOCK," by H. M. Walters
(J . M . Dent & Sons) , announces
itself in its subtitle as the autobio-
graphy of an automaton. It is written

185

as a first-person [confession, and the
author certainly got the character
across. You can't really admire Wes-
block; you can't love or look up to
him ; you can't even pity such a com-
pound of smugness and inadequacy.
He is in love, but unfaithful; borrows
money, spends it, gambles it, invests it,
and borrows more ; he finally worms his
way into the Civil Service by means
of "dirty work" done for King and
Country. Even after that he keeps
pulling at the coattails of his friends,
the Minister and the Senator, for ad-
vancement to still further undeserved-
nesses. Add that he has a frenzy for
the stage, and wears his hair long — ■
you have "Wesblock.'.'

HELP THE CHILDREN.
Dear Mr. Editor: —
T^HANKS for the privilege of appeal-
•'• ing through your columns on behalf
of the Hospital for Sick Children . The
Hospital takes care of sick and de-
formed children, not only in Toronto,
but in the Province, outside of the city.
This coming year, of all the years in
the Hospital's history, has a more seri-
ous outlook, as regards funds for main-
tenance, than any year that has passed
its calendar.

So many calls are being made on the
purses of the generous people of To-
ronto and Ontario, to help the soldiers
of the Empire, that as I make my daily
rounds through the wards of the Hos-
pital, and see the suffering children in
our cots and beds, the thought strikes
me as to whether the people will as of
old, with all the demands made upon
them, answer our appeal and help to
maintain the institution that is fighting
in the never-ending battle with disease
and death, in its endeavor to save the
stricken little ones in the child-life of
Ontario.

Last year there were 394 in-patients
from 210 places outside of Toronto, and
in the past twenty years there have
been 7,000 from places in the Province
other than Toronto.

It costs us $2.34 per patient per day
for maintenance. The municipalities
pay for patients $1.00 per patient per
day; the Government allows 20 cents
per patient per day; so, deducting
$1.20 from $2.34, it leaveg the Hospital
with $1.14 to pay out of subscriptions
it receives from the people of Toronto
and the Province. The shortage last
year ran to $18,000.

Since 1880 about 1,000 cases of club
feet, bow legs and knock knees have
been treated, and of these 900 had per-
fect correction. Nearly all these were
from different parts of the Province
outside of the City of Toronto.

Remember that every year is a war
year with the Hospital; every day is
a day of battle; every minute the Hos-

186

pital nee<is money, not for its own sake,
but for the children's sake. The Hos-
pital is the battleground where the
Armies of Life have grappled with the
Hosts of Death, and the life or death
of thousands of little children is the
issue that is settled in that war. Will
you let the Hospital be driven from
the field of its battle to save the lives
of little children for the lack of money
you can give and never miss?

Every dollar may prove itself a
dreadnought in the battle against
death, a flagship in the fleet that fights
for the lives of little children.

Remember that the door of tljie Hos-
pital's mercy is the door of hope, and
your dollar, kind reader, may be the
icey that opens the door for somebody's
child.

Will you send a dollar, or more, if
you can, to Douglas Davidson, Secre-
tary-Treasurer, or

J. ROSS ROBERTSON,

Chairman of the Board of Trustees,
Toronto.

OPEN WATER.

"A BOOK of verses underneath the
bough" is to-day an impossi'oil-
ity. We don't have the boughs close
up under the Stock Exchange for one
thing, and for another, modern poetry
is apt to be so vitally gripping that it
and a doze in the shade wouldn't go
together.

Personally, I've carried Arthur
Stringer's "Open Water" (John Lane
and Co.), through nearly a week of
strap-hanging, lunch-counter-eating
days before I've been content to leave
it at horne. And the verse that Can get
you, clear down to the last pulse of your
heart, when you're in the act of order-
ing Oyster Stew, is surely some poetry.
Maybe Mr. Stringer won't like this
low-brow tribute. But I have hopes
that he will, because I somehow think
that he'd rather write for the 8.30 a.m.
crowd that really does things — even if
it only types — than for the other kind
that lounges down at noon.

In his foreword, the author defends
his drifting away from all rhyme, and
even rhythm in the accepted sense, on
the ground that "verse, in the nature
of things, has become less epic and
racial, and more lyric and personal,"
and that therefore, "the larger utter-
ance of blank verse" is equally to be
decried with " the jingling sounds of like
endings." Poetry is not "an intel-
lectual exercise, but the immortal soul
of perplexed mortality seeking expres-
sion," and its primary function is
"both to intellectualize sensation and
to elucidate emotional experience."

Rhythm or no rhythm, Mr. Stringer's
verse undoubtedly lives up to his own
definition. The only criticism to be
made, it seems to me, is that, if he has
any sort of philosophy of life other than

CANADA MONTHLY

that we are to be ground between the
millstones of circumstance and had best
take it uncomplainingly, he gives us no
glimpse of it. Mr. Stringer's world
holds love and pity and terror, the
scarlet and black of tragedy, the hot
gold of passion, but nowhere does he
give us the far, faint white light of hope
beyond it all. Personally, if I believed
his philosophy, I couldn't read his
poems. Since I have my own creed, I
can appreciate, undisturbed, the splen-
did, glowing, sobbing emotion-sketches
that he flings out to me.

Here's the kernel of the book and the
best poem in it:

LIFE.

A rind of light hangs low-
On the rim of the world:
A sound of feet disturbs
The quiet of the cell
Where a rope and a beam looms high
At the end of the yard.

But in the dusk

Of that walled yard waits a woman :

And as the thing from its cell,

Still guarded and chained and boXind,

Crosses that little space,

Silent, for ten brief steps,

A. woman hangs on his neck.

And that walk from a cell to a sleep

Is known as Life,

And those ten dark steps

Of tangled rapture and tears

Men still call Love.

Doing a Daniel

Continued from page 160.

"By the time we gets to Kokomo,
we're Demon and Pythias. Romeo and
Jooliet was enemies compared to us,
and Hamlet and Ophelia hated each
other's signatures on a promissory
note. Estelle couldn't spare me long
enough even to give me time to get a
drink, and I had to have all my meals
brought into the theayter to me.

"I had to swear ofT smoking com-
plete, except when there wasn't no one
around; for I couldn't even go outside
the stage door for a cigarette but what
Estelle would be whooping and howling
and yowling and yelping so that people
would come running from every which
way; and once the Society for the
Invention of Cruelty to Animals got
after us; and I had to put my head in
Estelle's mouth and show the places
where his hair was coming out from
high feeding to prOve that I wasn't
maltreating him.

"He loved me so that we could hard-
ly get him to stay on the stage while
the leading lady was saving her lover
from him. The only way we could
work it at all was for me to stay with
him until the last minute and then to
stand out as far in the wings as I dared
and whisper to him. And even then
the whole scene had to be played in

the time it took Estelle to turn around
and make his exit.

"One night the manager come
around and he was sore.

" 'Now, look a' here,' he says to me.
This thing has gotter quit. It's get-
ing worse 'n worse all the time. Hav-
ing to play that whole dam' scene in
seventeen seconds make it lose all its
thrilling impressiveness. Why, the
leading lady has to come on like the
driver of Chemical A, and if she misses
the first swipe she makes at them
bonds, the lion's got his back turned
and is on his way home. It won't do.

" 'Now,' " he goes on, 'I want you to
keep out oi the way to-night after
you've led nim onto the stage. Duck
quick when he ain't looking and maybe
he'll be busy thinking things over long
enough to let us get through the scene
right.'

"Well, I done what he told me to.
And that night, before even the lead-
ing lady could reach the leading man,
Estelle had turned around and, hear-
ing my footsteps, had tried to climb
through the back drop curtain, with
the result that he tore it down and
thereby exposed to the gaze of the
audience a full view of Estelle kissing
me like we'd been just reyoonited
after years of separation, the manager
cussing a blue streak and the company
and stage hands laffing and slapping
their legs fit to kill. It was the most
appreciated scene we ever give; but it
didn't seem to make no hit with the
management. They cancelled us, and
we had to lay off the rest of the week.

"By the time we opens in the next
burg, this brainy manager of oum has
framed up a new scheme.

" 'I'll lead him on myself to-night,'
he says. 'You can duck right after
the second act. Then we'll let him
hunt all around until he knows you
ain't there, and maybe he'll be con-
tented to do the scene right. Of
course he'll howl and all that; but
that'll only lend extry color to the
thing.'

" 'All right,' I says, though I was
mighty dubious about the lustre of his
idea. 'You're the doctor.'

"I done what he told me to. Right
after the curtain had fell on the secon-"
act, I beat it out the stage door.

"I could hear Estelle already yell-
ling and yowling and wauling fit to
make a siren whistle ashamed of itself,
and my heart ached for him in his
loneliness. But I wouldn't go back.
'Orders is orders,' I says, and I strolled
around to the front of the house.

" 'What's the matter in there ?' asks
the man on the door, as, I waltzes into
the lobby. 'That dam,' animated
door-mat you've got in behind is tear-
ing it off so the audience is frightened
to death. Three women has fainted;
already and the people is going out

CANADA MONTHLY

187

faster 'n I ever seen 'em come in in my
life. Look a' there.'

"I looked. Seventeen people was

all at once trying to get out through a

loor that was originally intended to ac-

mmodate a thin guy going sideways.

'I guess I better go inside,' I says.

'I guess you'd better,' says the

loorman. 'There ought to be at least

le person in there for the actors to

lay to.'

By violent efforts I manages to get
iside and work my way half-way
[own a side aisle, so's to be out of the
sh.
I could hear 'em on the stage set-
ting scenery at a rate fit to bust the
speed ordinances into chunks; and I
knowed the manager had saw how
things was going, but was ashamed to
admit that his idea was a frost, and
so was trying to get the scene over
with and reyoonite me and Estelle
before the audience had went home.

"The curtain rung up in a jifify; and
of course the people that was still in
the theayter turned to look. Poor
Estelle was nosing around the stage,
dragging the mountain after him, and
aiming his one good eye this way and
that in a frantic effort to find me, and
all the while letting out roars and yowls
and yips and yells that made the
photograph frames in the lobby rattle.
"He only had one good eye. But
that one was certainly a peach. In
less than a minute he had spotted me;
and with one delighted, joyous beller
of pure happiness, he leaps over the
footlights, still towing the mountain
after him, and begins to spraddle his
way jubilantly across the backs of the
• seats to the spot where I'm standing.
"Of course, for what was left of the
audience, that was a-plenty, and then
some. . They stood not on the order
of their going. They just went. How
they done it is too many for me. The
light people climbed over the heavy
ones, and the thin people crawled under
the fat ones. Winders or doors, it
was all the same to them. I couldn't
tell you any more about it to save my
life. All I know is that in less 'n

Kirty seconds me and Estelle is stand-
j alone in that vast ampitheayter,
tening to the manager say soothingly
)m the stage:

" 'It's all right, ladies and gents.
They is really no cause for alarm, I
ashore you. It's all right, ladies and
gents.' And when at last he reelizes
that it's only me and Estelle he's talk-
ing to, he says, kind of helpless and
feeble-like, 'Well, wha' d' yer know
about that !' and tries to walk through
the curtain."

The property man ceased speaking
and thoughtfully gazed into his beer.
"And what then ?" I queried.
"I got me two weeks' notice," he
returned succinctly.

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The Delectable Energy Food

This is why Quaker Oats so excels in
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We pick out for it just the big, plump
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ten pounds of Quaker Oats from a bushel.

We apply to these grains both dry heat
and steam heat, to fix and enhance the
flavour. Then we roll them into large, white,
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The result is a delicacy which has won the
world. For many years, the mothers of a
hundred nations have sent to us to get it.
You, in America, find it right next door —
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You get this extra quality — this matchless
flavor — -when you order Quaker Oats. And
we promise that you always will.

Please remember this.

lOc and 25c per Package
Except in Far West

168

CANADA MONTHLY

*:,'

■Hiiiii(iiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiimiiiiimiiiimiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiuiriNimmiMiMitiiiiiMiiiiiiiiiini:iHiuiiiiMiiiiiiiiiiiiiiuMmiiii^

Get Your ^1

Farm Home

TAe— ^

Home

Maktr

iCANAOItNl

.PAcrnc/

from the

^^r^^^ Canadian Pacific

, ET your new borne in the Canadian West with its magnificent soil, good

Climate, churches, public schools, good markets, unexcelled transportation and the
comforts of civilization. Take twenty years to pay. The land is sold only to settlers who
will actually occupy and improve it. We make our prices and terms so attractive be-
cause we want farmers and because fl«r success depends on yours, Cfmie where you
cant;ret ten acres for every acre you now own or farm, where wy^^y acre will produce
as larfje crops as the highest-priced mixed-farming lands anywhere. Mother Earth
provides no better land than this rich virgin Western Canadian soil. Government
reports for the past years easily prove this.
We Give You 20 Years to Pay WewillB.ellyourich_l_andinWesternCan.

ada for from fll to $30 per acre— irrigated
lands from S3S. You need pay only one-twentieth down, and the balance within 20
years. Interest at 6 per cent. Long before your final payment comes due. your farm
will have paid for itself. Many good farmers in Western Canada have paid for their farms with one
crop. Realize what can be done with the high prices that will prevail for grain for the next few years.
Stock will advance in price proportionately.

We Lend You $2,000 for Farm ImproTements

in the irrigation di.stricfs, if you want it. providinK you are a marrit'd
man, of farming experience anii huve sumi^icnt farmintf equipnrjent to
carry on the work, with no other security than the lanu itself, an<l
pive you twenty years to repiiy it. Thia bFiows our eonfiitence in the
lanvi and its ability to create prosperity for you and traffic for our line.
Thia money will provide your buildings, your fences, sink a well, etc.
— interest only at 6 per cent.

We Will Advance Yon up to $1,000 Worth of Livestock

To approved purchasers of land in the irrigation diatricta, we will
advance hoga. sheep and cattle up to the value of $!,000, under lien
note. With this you can make immediate start on the right basis of
mixed furminK-interost 8 per cent. If you want a r»ady-inade farm
— our experts have prepared one for you. If you want a plact.' al-
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pany will advance a loan, specially easy terms of payment are offered;

If You Already Have

a Farm in

Western Canada

increase your farm hoidintrs by buying
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Where else will you get such low prices
and twenty years to pay for your
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particulars on request.

This Great Offer Is Based ort Good Land

The Canadian Pacific offers you the finest land on earth for grain prowinjf . cattlt-, hogs, sheep and
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start on irrigated or other land, improvc-d or unimproved.

Highest Grain Prices Ever Known

Realize, therefore, the great opportunity presented to Canadian farmers owing to the present
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The present time, your opportunity-don't delay -investigate-you owe it to yourself and family.
The best land will be taken lirst- so time is precious. Write today for books— Illustrated.

CANADIAN PACIFIC RAILWAY

Dept. of Natural Resources
20 Ninth Avenue West Calgary, Alberta

For Sale— Town Lots in all growing towna, on lines of Canadian Pacific Railway.
Ask for information concerning Industrial and Business openings in these towns.

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Canada Monthly Agency - Toronto, Ont.

"For what ?" I demanded, in some
surprise.

"You can search me," he returned;
and then, with the disdain and hauteur
of the true historian, "Only the g(xxl
l.ord knows why they do the things
they do do in some companies. But
they gives as a excuse that they thought
if they got some one that Klstelle didn't
love so much as he did me, maybe
they could get him to stay on the stage
long enough to let them play the
scene."

"And Estelle," I persisted. "What
loecame of him ?"

The property man was gazing into
his beer with saddened eyes.

I reiterated my query.

"Oh, Estelle !" he exclaimed, banish-
ing with an effort the clinging mists of
retrospection. "Estelle committed sui-
cide."

"What 1" I cried.

"Yes," he nodded sadly. "And they
rewrote his part for a stuffed tiger."

turned his big head slowly

^•••»>l ■»■»■»■!■>><»

*»•*•»*.»........,

Rescuing Mary

Continued from page 162.
said the Inspector, turning to Peter,
who stood gazing down the stairs after
them. "You aren't to see that woman
again. She's going to a house where
they won't allow a man inside the door.
You've got to keep the Canadian laws.
Understand? You wouldn't treat one
of your own women that way, would
you?"

Peter
around.

"W'here's she going?" he asked,
politely.

"It doesn't concern you where she's
going," roared out the Inspector, whose
voice was nearly as tired trying to
explain the law as his heart was of
having to enforce it.

"But I want to send her monej',"
replied Peter, side-stepping the spirit
of the law with the innocence of a two-
year-old .

The Inspector, bereft of words,
stalked down the stairs, and in a setting
of ashes and garbage in the front hall,
he unburdened his heavy soul.

"Now, that's done. But what's the
use. She's mad and she wants him,
and we'll have to watch them all the
time. And how's she to keep those
three children and bring them up the
way Canadian girls should be? They
couldn't stay in this Dago hole. What
sort of a life is it for her now? Taking
those three to the Creche every morn-
ing, slaving away all day, and then
calling for them again at night, all tired
but and going to a cold room to get her
tea. It isn't a dog's life. Afterhaving
it easy and comfortable here with a
man she liked. But we can't stand for
that kind of thing, now can we?"

CANADA MONTHLY

189

He was a different man this. Peter
wouldn't have known him, for he had a
Hght in his eyes that wouldn't have

I^H^poiled a Madonna,
^pr "We've no mother's pensions. If

we had that, the girl would never have
had to, come to a four-dollar-a-week job

I^^n a Dago joint. She'd have had her
^Town home and a chance with the babies.
Fine babies those, weren't they? Never
saw finer. I've one of my own at
that."

He shoo'ed away a dissipated grey
cat from the potato peelings and
started out the door, still soliloquizing.

"But, just the same the Govern-
ment's got to help us with these
Macedonian boarding-houses and res-
taurants. The Chinese are half way
decent because they only eat in theirs,
and they've a clean, open place, but the
men in these holes live there all day.
The girl is right with them all the time.
They pass in and out and lounge
round. They've no women of their
own out here, but half of them have
their wives back home. And now this
winter, with so many girls out of work,
and these places giving four dollars a
week and not much to do — and their
meals — what are we going to do?"

A window banged, and looking up we
saw that the yellow blinds in the room
with the nursery paper, where Peter
was alone, were drawn down.

Just a week after this the Probation
Officer met the S. and P. on the street.

"How's Mary?"

"Don't know," returned the Proba-
tion Officer, whose daily diet is ser-
pents' teeth. "She took the children
out on Tuesday, and we haven't seen
them since."

Folk Songs

Continued from page 165.

column in our papers reserved for
just such outpourings from "Out-
raged," "Sarcastic" and Pro Bono
Publico, and people generally who felt
"kind of worsei" But, apparently,
poets have even more scope in the
older lands. Where Halka as a child
saw an old woman following her
drunken husband to his grave and
wailing "Who will give me my whiskey
now?" a poet would have made a song
as a matter of course, and the jest
might have drifted down a century or
so. Death, because it is so natural, is
not very terrible in the peasant view-
point; it is so lightly regarded at times
that one shudders a little at what
seems callousness and irreverence. It
enters into childish games, yet no one
is saddened by it. The Countess
Martinengo-Cesaresco, in "The Study
of Folk-Songs" says: "To play at
funerals was doubtless a very ancient
amusement. No doubt some such

Are you a helper
or just a wife?

RE you, without thinking, making
it harder for your husband by wast-
ing his earnings — wasting them
down the sink?

That's where lots of money and home
happmess and children's chances go; and
cleaners are often responsible. The waste-
pipe gets what the kettle should get. And
though you don't mean to shake money
away, that's practically what happens —
every time a wasteful cleaner is used.

Be a helper — not '*ju§t a wife."

Do your share. Save. Start right in
saving with your cleaner now. Reach for
Sapolio, and think of the little bit you'll
be "ahead" each single time you clean.

For you can't shake Sapolio into the sink work, enamel ware, kettles, knives, forks and

when you mean it for a fork. the hundred things you want to twinkle and

You can't shake it away anywhere. You g'eam and make bright— bright as the money

can't spill it away. VO" save with Sapolio.

You can only Tu^ar it away by exchanging it Start saving today with Sapolio — trusty,

for the shines it puts into aluminum, brass saving Sapolio — " Old Friend " to millions!

.z?^^@[La@ f

game as the Sicilian one just de-
scribed is alluded to in the text, ". . .
children sitting in the markets and
calling unto their fellows and saying,
We have piped unto you and ye have
not danced, we have mourned unto
you and ye have not lamented.' "

Halka sings gay or melancholy
snatches as she scrubs her floors;
songs of the bride, or lullabies, or
ditties dealing with unrequited love.
In her country the bride and bride-
groom separate after the ceremony at

the church, going to their respective
homes and making merry until the
evening. Then the husband calls for
his wife, and a collection of money is
taken up for the newly-wedded pair.
The bride stands at the threshold of
her mother's house and sings:

"Mother mine, keep well — for now we two

must part !
Say not that I've taken all, I pray you have

no fears;
Lo, upon the table I am leaving — tears !
While outside more tears shall fall caused by

my sad heart."
"O my Mary, go then; leave me quite alone.

190

CANADA MONTHLY ADVERTISER

What Well-known English Proverbs Do These Pictures Represent ?

IN PRIZES
GIVEN AWAY IN

«RAN» PROYERA CONTEST —ENTER TO-BA]^

FIRST PRIZE

500-

INCASH

Grandest Prize ever offered
by any Canadian Magazine.

Can You Guess the Answers fo the Above Pictures?

This is the most wonderful opportunity ever oflfered by a great magazine, to its friends and readers. $500.00
in cash is the first prize that you can win. Other magnificent prizes, almost equalling it in valu3, mak^ a total
prize list aggregating over $5,000.00 in value. Send your entry TO-DAY.

One of our clever cartoonists has
compiled a senes of twelve Proverb
Pictflres. each one representing a
well-known Standard English Pro-
verb. We have chosen two of these
pictures from tlie set (Numbers 1
and 4) which are shown above, and
they are the only ones of the series
which will be publishedin this paper,

This starts you on the road to sharing in this stupendous distribution of prizes
will write and tell you so, and send you

How to Enter This Great Contest

In order to start you correctly we
will tell you that picture Number 1
reprerents that well-known English
Proverb "The Eaily Bird Catches
the Worm." Now what proverb
does picture number four represent?
You obtain entry to this great
Contest by sending us the correct
answer to picture Number four.
If your answer is correct we

FREE — A Fine Book of Standard English Proverbs and the Series of Twelve
(12) Proverb Pictures Completing the Contest

The publisbeTB of Canada's greatest monthly niflgazim- are conduct-
ing this great contest. Therefore conteBtints nre assureil of its ab-
tMtlutt- fairness and squareot'Sit. In order tu givf an t-quiil diancft to
every coiiipetitf^r. we have pubHshed a fine l»ook of Standard English
Proverbs and all the proverbs repreflented by the serii^s of twelve
pictures have bft-ii <htisen fn>ni this Ixiok. Answer jirovrTb No. 4

irr.-ctly and this fin-- l-ook will be mailed to you free. With It you
will reri-ive the coniplet.- series of twelve proverb pictures which
complete the contist. Thus, there will 1« i>o waiting or delay. Ail
the pictures will 1h; presented to you at onee and you can set to work
with the remaining 1» pictures, and tind the anawer* that can win
y>iu yiiir shiU': "f these wondrrfui prizes.

This stupendous Contest is >>eing conducted by the publishers of
"Kverywoman's World," solely with the object of introduc-iag Can-
ada's greatest home journal \\\\<i new homes and to new renlers.

In additiin to the tine standard book of English Proverl«, and the
erie» of proverb pictures, each contestant will i-ecelvea free copy of the
urrent numberof Every woman's W^orld. This Is sent to you without

The senders of the winning answers, chosen by the judges in accordance with the conditions of the

Contest (see simple rules below) will be awarded the magnificent prizes shown on the prize list to the right.

Prizes are provided for everyone successfully solving the twelve Proverb Pictures.

Every Contestant will be pleased.

cliJirge Ix'cinise tlie publisht-rs know that mice, this magidticent Jour.

nal is ihtro<luce«l int« the homes of tlie intelligent i)eople who wil]

enter this great contest it will be wantj'^i every loonth. There is ii„

other monthly magazine published in Canaibi like "Kverywoman's

World, ■ and you will be delighted to have the people in your hum,.

become acfjuaintt^d with a magazine so live, bright and entertaining

Remember, you do not have to be a snIiw.Tiber in order to compete, nor are you

disked to sulBierilje to " Everywoma n' s World" orsi)eiid a single cent of your

;iioney. Tliis great contest Isabsolutely free of all exi>eD9e.

Read Careftilly the Simple Rules
Governing Entry to the Contest.

1. — ^Write on one side of the paper only, your solution to pro-
verb picture No. 4, and give your full name (stating Mr. Mrs. or
Miss) and complete address. Anything else but your answer to
picture No. 4 and your name and address should be written on a
separate sheet of paper and ^ould be confined to fifty (50) words,

2, — Members and employes of this firm, or relations of mem-
bers or employees are Absolutely excluded from competing.

3.— Enclose with your answer two (2) two-cent stamps
(4 cents.) This is to pay postage on the Book of
English Proverbs, complete series of pictures, illustrated
prize list, and free copy of " Everywoman's World,"
which we will mail to you.|

LIST OF PRIZES

1st Prize-FIVE HUNDRED DOLLARS - «SOO.OO:

2nd Prize
$460.00 Upright Piano

'ind
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6th
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10th
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10th
20th
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mnd
2.1rd
tUlh
Ssth
Ulth
Kth
2«th
29th
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Slit
•2nd
».1rd

a4tb

S5th
snth
s'th

Wlh
89th
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44 th
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Ladiea' Gold Filled Watch . •• fOOO

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Ileliance Vacuum Carpel Sweeper " li.OO

97.piece Dinner Set . . " 14 00

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7 volumeat-t of Chas. Picken'8 Worka *' 10 00

Three Stone Pearl Hint', eolid gold " 10,'C

lAdiea' Gold Filled Watih " 10.00

Men's Gold Finished or Gun Metal Watch O-iO

Solid Gold Garnet Ring . . *' i.oo

Set of Edtrar Allen Poe'sWorka . " 0.00

21 piece Vienna Tea Set . . " • 6.00

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Pair Gold Filled CuB Links
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Imperial Water or Lemonalie Set
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Value

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and in addition to tile above more than $3,000.00 worth
of handsome valuable prizes will be aH-arded. Every con-
testant successfully solving the 12 pictures will be awarded
a prize of value.

Complete Prize List will be Mailed t« Yo«.

4. — Different members of a family may
compete, but only one prize, ■will be a'warded
^^to any one family.

5. — All letters must be fully prepaid in
postage.

6. — The Judging Committee will consist o'
five (5) prominent Toronto business men who^e
names will be published in due course. Prized
will be awarded to correct or nearest correct
___ _ answers in accordance with handwriting and

3rd Prize-Magnificent Shetland Pony, Cart and general neatness and contestants must agree to
Harness Complete. Value S250.00 abide by the decision of the judges.

7. — Contestants will be asked to show the
copy of "Everywoman's World," which we
will send, to three or four friends or neighbors
who will want to subscribe.

8. — ^As soon as your answer is received and
found correct, we will write advising you and
send you the complete series of proverb pic-
tures and the Book of Famous English Pro-
verbs, together with a copy of the current
numberof " Everywoman's World." Ad-
dress your letters plainly to Contest
Manager.

CONTINENTAL PUBLISHING CO., Limited, Publishers of " Everywoman's World," Dept. C Toronto, Canada

CANADA MONTHLY

191

Leave the flowers you used to tend — who will

watch them grow ?
Who will plant more in the spring, in a pretty

row ?
Who will water them when all the lovely buds

are blown ?" —
"Some one else must water them. If I un-
happy be
Why then should I just for flowers ever

weep or sigh ?"
"Who will sweep from off the walk leaves

that on them lie ?" —
"If my lover comes no more the dead leaves he

won't see !"

A wedding even in this country and
on city streets has still a remnant of
its old spirit of song and gayety, wit-
ness the capture of the bride sometimes
seen by astonished Winnipeg, pedes-
trians; but the fun may degenerate
into roughness and violence — I re-
member Polish Marinka telling me
with pride that she was to have a
policeman at her wedding — but there
are the old songs, just the same.
Sometimes they make up new ones —
according to Halka. She says that if
"a bunch of girls" do not like the men
with them they sing to make them
angry :

"Oh, you Winnipeg fellows !

You think you are very high-class.

You spend all your wages for smart clothes.

And at the end of the week you have no money;

Then on the Sunday you go to a Jew

And carry water for him at a cent a pail."

My various servants of foreign ex-
traction have proved exceedingly inter-
esting to me, leading me to the sight
of such quaint and out-of-the-way
customs. Marinka took me to see
the "Blessing of the Baskets" one
Easter-tide, when every good house-
wife brought to church her basket of
provisions for the great day — hard
boiled eggs, sausage, bread, salt, cakes,
butter, cheese, etc — to be blessed by
the priest ; he repeated the same words
about every quarter of an hour to new
knots of kneeling people, and all that
Saturday long the laden women came
and went; yet if Marinka had not
told me of this ceremony I should
probably never have guessed what was
the meaning of all the basket-laden
women on Selkirk Avenue.

I went to see Marinka married one
May morning, but I missed the fete
at her house. For weeks before the
great day she had to sit up late at
night learning many paragraphs of
ritual in connection with her faith,
and as she did not know until I told
her that Christ was crucified as a
malefactor on Good Friday, the
spiritual side of her education had
been much neglected, although she
went to mass eyery Sunday.

The month of May is usually chosen
for weddings among the Polish people
in Winnipeg; there had been three
before ten o'clock on the day Marinka

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was wed. Two youths, each lightly
clasping an arm, brought her up the
aisle, the groom being in advance, with
the same escort of girls. Her white
satin dress which had cost her twenty-
five dollars, was strewn with the very
expensive blossoms of the "meert" or
myrtle the Polish wedding-flower,
great sprays also resting on her veil.
After the procession entered, the little
gathering waited in chiil silence in the
huge church while those to be married
went into the basement to make their
confession and hear mass; then the
altar was lighted (this appeared to be
the test of the financial position of the
bridegroom — it cost much money),
and after that it seemed as if the tall
lighted candles held by Marinka and
her husband were the only bits of
brightness in a world of shivering
gloom. The priest rattled through
the ceremony and in a pell-mell of
bridal party, bridgedroom, bride and
rabble the church was suddenly emp-
tied and the acolytes extinguished the
altar radiance. I think they must do
those things in prettier fashion in the
old lands where there is not so much
hurry.

Mrs. Murphy

Continued from page 176.

"Hold on, stranger," drawled the
Northerner. "Hold the team and take
'em through one at a time. Now ante
again."

"Well, who is the mayor ?" The
citizen slowly told him, and the new
arrival, seeming satisfied, the North-
ener impatiently said:

"Well, pardner ! Are you going to
lay down your hand ? Ask me the
other."

"Oh ! Isn't he the boss of this
town ?"

"Well, yes. He is, and then, again,
he ain't. You see Mrs. Murphy lives
here."

Friend reader, let that one also
pass. These are the opinions of to-
day, and "Janey Canuck" believes
that the things of to-day, be they
opinion, books, works, land-marks, or
monuments, should be preserved. She
says : — • ;

"We should file away even th^
things we think are trivial, for these
little intimate private details will be
studied l)y the generations that follow

192

ONE-DAY

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CANADA MONTHLY

with avidity and interest. The ("ana-
dians-to-come will value them highly."
And her writings bear out her say-
ings. All her books depict as closely
as possible both the manner and the
speech of the present. She has put
down the language of the homesteader,
the phrases of the red-coaled police-
man, the uncouth idioms of the im-
migrant and the sayings of the coal
miners as only a woman of culture
can. In "Janey Canuck in the West,"
her first book, one finds Western ways
and phrases and, through them all, her
version of Western wisdom. Her
"Open Trails" is written in a quaint,
humorous style that is all her own.
These books give vivid pictures of the
lumber camps in the forests; the
strange immigrants in the cities; the
plodding plainsmen; and the amaz-
ing vitality of the country.

In her forthcoming book called
"Seeds of Pine," some chapters of
which have appeared serially, there
are stories of the North — of the men
who went in and grappled with the
lone land, fighting it tooth and nail;
and of the women who, shoulder to
shoulder with their husbands, helped
push back the frontier to the Arctic
Ocean. It is an epic of pioneer life,
bristling with humor, pathos and grim
irony.

It was on her trip to the Slave Lake
that Mrs. Murphy came upon the
incidents for her next novel. What
it will be called no one knows, but it
will describe with all the reality she
can command the last stand of the
unknown and undiscovered country
against its invaders. It will deal with
men and women who live hard, play
hard and die hard.

Mrs. Murphy is working on this
story? now, and although questioned
would not touch the subject. What
the interviewer did find out about the
new work was through a discreet
questioning of her charming young
daughters.

Even these, like everyone else, hold
their mother in high esteem. It is
surely a feat deserving of praise when
one is able to keep the household on
such good terms that at no time does
any member of it throw cold water on
one's abilities. One's own family is
generally the first to cloud any achieve-
ment, but here was Mrs. Murphy being
lauded by her own children. Which only
goes to prove that "Janey Canuck"
never presents two sides. She is al-
ways "just herself" — original, happy,
and optimistic.

"I thought you were going to move
into a more expensive apartment ?''
"The landlord saved us the trouble,"
replied Mrs. Flimgilt. "He raised the
rent of the one we have been occupy-
ing."

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193

What Does Uncle
Sam Say ?

Continued from page 155.

^Fon the very nature of things — " but

r the head of the family then storms off

to bed and his tidy wife follows, after

picking Bemhardi from the floor in the

comer and laying him on the shelf.

Ex-President Charles W. Eliot of
Harvard University, considered by
many to be America's foremost man
of letters, writing in the New York
Times, says in part:

"The prime source of the present
immense disaster in Europe is the
desire on the part of Germany for
world-empire, with the belief that it
is only to be obtained by force of
arms. . . The German view of the
worthlessness of international agree-
ments was not a cause of the present war ,
because it was not fully evident to
Europe, although familiar and of long
standing in Germany; but it is potent
reason for the continuance of the wai
by the Allies until Germany is defeated,
because it is plain to all the nations to
the world except Germany, Austria-
Hungary and Turkey at the moment ;
that the hopes of mankind for the
gradual development of international
order and peace rest on the sanctity
of contracts between nations, and on
the development of adequate sanc-
tions in the administration of inter-
national law. The new doctrine of
military necessity affronts all law, and
is completely and hopelessly bar-
barous."

Quite a difference in opinion between
America's leading professor and the
professors of the German universities,
isn't there ?

I don't think that ever in history
has the United States had a warmer
feeling for Great Britain. But it was
not so many years ago when "twist-
ing the Lion's tail" was a "sure bet"
for an aspiring and perspiring American
politician. Lord Salisbury helped in
bringing about this change when he
kept England steadily pro-American
during their Spanish war. Mr. As-
quith also aided in the good work when
he met the life-long ambitions of the
Irish-Americans to see their country
granted self-government.

Here is another reason why America
sides with England, trivial some may
say, but I believe Canadians will
appreciate it: With the exception of
a few slang expressions and little tricks
of phraseology that occasionally cause
minor ructions amongst individuals
and give the paragraphers great joy,
the American speaks the language of
the British Empire. The Englishman

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and American understand each other.
Both countries use Pear's Soap, both
shave their faces, both look upon the
earth as consisting, like Caesar's Gaul,
of three parts, i.e., English, Americans,
and foreigners.

Which statement was beautifully
illustrated not long ago at table in a
cafe in Belgrade when an American
writer and an English engineer were
sitting together. The Englishman was
vainly trying to tell a waiter that he
wanted some Irish stew. Finally he
turned to the American in disgust.

"Damn it !" he roared, "don't any of
these foreigners understand English ?"

And the American, laughing, under-
stood the sentiment.

It is said that it was against the
Hessian mercenaries of King George
that the early American colonists
fought most bitterly. When a man
speaks your own language there's
always a chance and a temptation to
talk it over; but a man who can't
understand yoti is a foreigner.

Then, looking at the situation from
a commercial standpoint, Uncle Sam
would be naturally bitter against the

194

CANADA MONTHLY

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aggressor in a war that upset his busi-
ness and his three-meals-a-day-eight-
hours-sleep routine. Business occupies
a high altar in the United States.
What if it will mean to them a gain of
seventy-five million dollars in the
wheat market ? It has also resulted
in the retention of ten million bales
of cotton, which ordinarily would
have gone abroad, has destroyed the
local market for the remaining five
million bales, and the spectre of ruin
stalks by the side of the Southern
cotton farmer and the Southern busi-
ness man. But for this struggle the
products of the cotton farmers would
be worth to-day more than a billion
dollars. They had to face winter and
Christmastide without the means to
procure even the necessities of exist-
ence, and their condition would indeed
be desperate but for the "Buy a Bale"
movement that has pervaded the rest
of the country.

Briefly, the war forced the people of
the United States to economize — and
that is a practice that does not come
easy with them. The United States
requires from three to five hundred
million dollars a year to pay her debt
to Europe, for interest, ocean freights,
insurance, etc. For forty years it has
been paid with cotton, but that is
impossible now. To offset this con-
dition, fewer luxuries are imported,
and a heavy war tax is being collected.

What if the war furnishes the United
States an opportunity to expand
foreign commerrce, advance in inter-
national finance and build up home
industries to supply goods that have
been imported from Europe: — these
things require capital. She cannot
borrow from Europe. Additions to
her stock must come from her own
earnings and savings.

As Professor Usher points out, the
winner of this war will be in a position
to -cut off American trade from South
America. This could have been done
long ago by Great Britain, because of
her preponderate naval strength. The
fact that she has not attempted to do
it is all the evidence that Americans
want that she will not do it. As far
as Germany is concerned, there is no
past experience on which to base a
presumption. The Panama Canal was
built with England's consent — indeed
England actually cancelled treaties to
remove obstacles from the way. The
United States took Cuba and Porta
Rica, and still holds Porta Rica with
England's consent. England has never
shown a disposition to interfere. If
the Germans should win, by simply
keeping American ships away, Ger-
many could hold South America as a
prize. American foreign trade is large-
ly carried in English ships, but if Ger-
many were to triumph it would be in
her power to deprive Great Britain

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195

•f every vessel. Then the United
>tates, still dependent upon ships fly-
ng another flag, could only send goods
,vhere the owners of the ships were
Wiling they should go. Thus, in a
)erfectly peaceful way, the United
itates might be deprived of access to
he world's markets.

These theoretical anticipations by
'rofessor Usher have set America to
hinking seriously. Someone has noted :
'It is very significant that of all
American comment upon the effect of
he war on the United States, only in
he event of a German victory is any
isturbance feared. If the Allies win,
he people of the United States know
hat instead of being menaced, a
[lenace will have been removed from
hem."

Listen to what Collier's Weekly has
say on the subject: "We shall
bserve President Wilson's neutrality
rder rigidly. And yet suppose Ger-
lany should win ? Suppose Germany
ccupied France, wiped out the British
rmy, and swept the British navy from
he sea ? Suppose all this had hap-
pened, and we in the United States
ad a day or two to think it over ?
Vhat would we think and what would
re do ? Our own notion is that if
re were guided by ordinary prudence
re would instantly recognize the
eccssity of making our navy not less
ban seven times as strong as it now is
nd raising our standing army to a
alf-million. Our German-American
"lends who criticise us as being pre-
idiced against the Fatherland would
len themselves realize the real situa-
on. With a triumph of the military
jirit and of absolutism in Europe, we
.mericans would have to step against
ur wills into the shoes that France
as stood in now for forty years."

Uncle Sam has been made to think
y such editorials as this. Just look-
ig at the subject from a cold-blooded,
etached, ratiocinative standpoint,
ow could Uncle Sam be other than
ro-Ally from the bottom of his shoes
) the top of his star-spangled sky-
iece ?

Von Bemhardi notes in one of his
ooks the statement by von Edelsheim,

member of the general stafif of the

^-man army, that "Germany cannot
ly submit to the attacks of the
. nucd States forever," and that she
liust ask herself how she can "impose
er will." Then he outlines his plans
- to the proper way to defeat that
try.

was such skeletons as these that I

■uiul Uncle Sam digging out of the

'" iries and inspecting with eyes that

td. I heard a number of Ameri-

tiis discussing the impossible attitude

li a certain German Admiral during

je Spanish- American War, and the

lorough lack of a sense of humor dis-

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played by His Majesty of Prussia when
an American naval officer admirably
crystallized the Imperial Egotism in
a song entitled "Me und Gott."

But back of the sympathies that
are born of a common speech and a
close inter-relation of citizenship, back
of the self-interest that would guard
against disturbed business conditions
and loss of trade, is the sincere abhor-
ance of what Germany did and is doing
to Belgium, and this abhorence is
general throughout the United States.
Letters like the following, sent out by

the Belgian Food Relief Committee of
Chicago, are bringing the cause of the
Allies closest home to the American
heart :

"We appeal to you individually.
The loss of life in this war is appalling.
But more pathetic is the thought of
women and children slowly dying of
starvation. No bugles or banners or
leaders to inspire them ! And yet
more heart-breaking still is the thought
of mothers watching their children
starve. This will happen in Belgium -
unless you and we help — our Ambas-

106

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CANADA MONTHLY

sador cables — by the 'tens of thou-
sands.'

"It is estimated that $5 per month
will keep from starvation a woman or a
child. You are well-to-do and have
luxuries. A little, a very little, will
save S5 a month. You are probably
doing much already, but please add
this. Would you not feel more com-
fortable to know that you are saving
from starvation by some little economy
on your part a woman or a child through
the next six months ? By then warm
weather will have come and perhaps,
please God, peace.

"If this, our appeal for the innocent
and starving women and children of
Belgium moves you, please sign the
enclosed postal. We cannot stop this
war, but each of us can help to stop
this added horror." And then this
postscript: "Remember, Europe sent
$880,000 to Chicago immediately after
our Great Fire. Let us not forget."

Similar appeals, I discovered, are
being made and responded to in almost
every city and town throughout the
nation. The "Buy a Barrel" of flour
for Belgium movement spread like the
top-spinning craze among boys. You
have read in the papers of the "Christ-
mas ship" sent by one of Uncle Sam's
great newspapers. A large proportion
of America's 100,000,000 people now
feel that they have a personal interest
in the brave little nation whose geo-
graphical location in the path of a
faithless neighbor was the sole cause
of its misfortune. Because of the
tragedy of Belgium the women in most
of the big cities in the United States
this Christmas refused to purchase
"made in Germany" toys. Even in
case of early peace — which America
expects — it will be many,- many years
before Uncle Sam begins to buy any
large amount of supplies again from
the "Fatherland."

We must realize that the United
States put the "yell" in yellow journal-
ism. Occasionally a Hearst takes a
jab at Britannia — and even Canada —
whenever he thinks sensational news
must needs be manufactured. And
there are some American publications
obviously subsidized by the Germans —
which we should boycott. But do not
for a moment think that these repre-
sent public opinion over there. A trip
across the line will convince you, as it
did me.

When Lord Roberts died at the
front the editorial page of almost every
American paper carried a stirring
eulogy on his heroic character. When
Turkey entered the war it meant that
a stronger bond of friendship between
the United States and England had
been riveted. After the Canadian
Contingent sailed for England, Ameri-
cans watched eagerly for news of its
arrival. They felt then as if they were
personally represented in the war.

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It was in an American restaurar
The man sitting at the counter besi<
me was evidently as much interest(
in his newspaper as in his food. Aft
a time he turned to me in delightf
comraderie and said, with a pleasi
grin:

"I see our Canadian friends made
hit with Kitchener. I'll bet the G€
mans will find that the boys from o
side of the water are some fighters."

You see now why I ha\e come bai
to Canada feeling that I have bo
among our kind of people, — that the
is no such animal as a boundary lir

CANADA MONTHLY

197

know that when "our boys" do them-
ilves proud, the people of the United
tates will share our gratification,
"ruly the Kaiser made no greater
lander than when he thought that the
fnited States would give Germany its
j.ipport and would immediately invade
anada and endeavor to annex it.
quote again from the Saturday
mning Post: "For four thousand
liles on the north a mere chalk line
iparates us from the Britisn Empire,
bbody on either side of the line is
neasy about that. Years of fair
^aling, mutual respect, courtesy and
)od will will make infinitely stronger
jfences than if we had all the Kaiser's
)ldiers or all the King's ships."
And then from Collier's: "As the
ar rages on and we find ourselves
Inched by it, we can and do thank
od for good neighbors. Sometimes
Clark says something that makes us
ush for him ; but the nice thing about
anadians is, they understand what a
ose tongue is and pay very little
:tention to it. A good deal used to
said about annexing Canada, and
jwadays every once in a while a man
>mes back from there so full of admira-
on that he wants to annex the United
ates to Canada instanter; but most
us feel — and we sincerely hope that
anada can share the feeling — that
;st being neighbors is the best thing
r both of us. . . It is really a
autiful thing to think of, this war-
im winter, that we have never had a
rious difference about our common
operty. This is a good time to vow
at we never will. Our Lady of the
lows is not so cold as her title might
id one to think. She is distinctly
ir sort — and we hope she won't mind
ir saying so."

Let me add for the last time that
mada and the United States are very
uch alike. If Canada were not in
e British Empire, it is probable that
2 would be neutral, the same as the
nited States is neutral. In the Civil
ar Canada was neutral, but our
ficial neutrality did not keep thou-
nds of us from enlisting to preserve
e Union. And after five decades of
endship and interlocking business
lations, is it surprising that Major-
aieral Hughes has had thousands of
iplications from American citizens
10 desire to join our army for service
.1 ?

lada and the United States both

e with Asquith that this war will

nine whether the world is to be

rned by citizens or soldiers."

principle of life in both countries

ctly opposed to militarism. The

luted States knows war. It was

Serman who gave it its fitting name.

(id while it is a nation that loves

face and seeks the blessings that

Flow in its train, the United States

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is com'ing' to realize more and more
every day that the defeat of the Allies
would mean permanent peace forever
lost. Therefore it is my firm opinion
that before Uncle Sam would see Ger-
many triumph, he would climb down
from the neutral fence, roll up his
sleeves, and fight shoulder to shoulder
with his Canadian cousin to help make
the Kaiser plain Mr. Hohenzollern.

Will Emperor William II Rex sign
his name hereafter as William Wrecks ?

The Live Coward

Continued from page 158.

against Bob's sturdy obtuse head with
more freedom of tongue and less fear
of gibe (for Bob had learned to listen
with a lazy respect and had framed a
number of little phrases which, inter-
jected patly at proper intervals, en-
abled him to seem to listen without
undue effort of intellect).

"You got a head on you like a tack,
boy," Bob would say (meaning of

198

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CANADA MONTHLY

course the opposite) as, keeping an
attitude of listening, he whistled soft
airs, felt of the flaxen growth on that
upper lip, or whittled a stick, during
the Dawny dialogues which pre-empted
their leisure time.

It was a memorable conversation —
singular too for being less a monologue
than a dialogue — which Dawney and
Bob had several days after the F"iery
Cross flared into Oakbum. Bob, on
pins and needles to enlist, had sought
Dawney on a Sunday morning and
the two had repaired to the sunny lee
of a new-built haystack.

"Well," said Bob, as he lit the pipe of
cogitation and carefully killed the
match under the heel of his harvest-
boot, "what say, — eh, Dawney ?
We're both husky critters, y'know,
an' they'd take us in a minute ?"

"Bob," admitted Dawney, a little
sheepishly, rubbing his hand up and
down the side of his face, "I don't
want to go. What's the use of a war,
anyway ?"

"Don't want to go !" Bob took his
pipe out of his mouth, and stared.
"Don't want to go, Dawson ? I
didn't surely hear you right ! Say
that again."

"You heard me right the first time,"
observed Dawney, his fingers wander-
ing tenderly, of their own volition,
toward the region where his belt-plate
would have been if instead of being
loosely habited in smock and overalls
he had been snugly encased in the
King's uniform. "What's the use of
a fellow going to this war, and gettin'
killed — or all crippled up, so's that
he dies afterwards ?"

"Why, we'd be fightin' — we'd see
the world. We'd come back heroes,
Dawsoji 1 What's come over you any-
way ? You ust to talk to me about
nothin' else but that there Napoleon
all day long. Don't you want to be
like him no more ?"

"How," Dawney enquired, for reply,
"would you like to get a bullet under
your belt ? It wouldn't feel very
nice, eh — would it ? All for nothin',
too. That's war."

"Yes, but we ain't all goin' to get
shot, Dawson. Look at that George
Pearce. All through the Boer war,
and ain't got a scratch to show for
it !"

"Yes, but that don't say you would
get off that easy," DawTiey said, turn-
ing half around. "You might get
shot in your first battle, — not dead,
but through the stomach, or some-
where like that. Then what ?"

Bob put his pipe in his pocket, got
up with immense scorn, and pulled
down his coat-tail.

"Then you're scared to go ?" he
demanded.

"Well, it ain't that, so much," said
Dawney, a little redly; adding equi-

Tho Gonerat
says:'

Epps are eggs — when your hens
don't lay. A warm chicken houi>e
encourages the hens.
Make the roof — and sides too — of

Certain - teed

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No roofing "testa" can give you that
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Your dealer can furnish Ctrtaln - ttmil

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vocally, "you know how Pali's rhi
matism cripples him up e\er\ fal
I'm more use at home here than goir
fightin'. They'll never miss me ove
there."

"Your Dad's rheumatism ought t
make you aehamed o' yourself for nc
goin,' " retorted Bob. "You kno^
how he got the start of it. Sleepii
on the damp ground while he wa
away with them volunteers in '8f
He wasn't like you."

Dawney writhed under this thrust
He knew that his father, rheumatisr

CANADA MONTHLY

199

and all, was only held by his years
from Valcartier Camp.

"I bet you ain't talked to him the
way you're talkin' now," continued
|ob. "If you did, he'd kick you out
' doors an' make you go. You know
Dur Dad ain't no coward."

Dawney took dogged refuge in an
Id saying. "I'd rather," he said
jowly, "be a live coward than a dead
^hero. Bob Halliday."

"Well, if that's how you feel about
it," Bob's voice was level and full of
contempt, "I ain't got no more to say
to you. I bid you good-day !"

So Bob went away to the training
camp. Two other heady young
patriots from Oakburn went with him.
The village escorted them to the
station with a brass band; and the
Oakburn publicity commissioner, to
whose intense initiative he owed his
appointment to a position that another
might easily have made a sinecure,
turned up excitedly at the last moment
with a clipping which he read to the
three heroes from a soap-box on the
station platform.

"There you are, boys," he concluded,
inflamingly, in the midst of a hurri-
cane of anti-German howls, "that's
what they'll do, if they ever get into
Canaday here."

Dawney, sitting apart from the
crowd on a truck before the door of
the little freight-shed, felt ostracized
and humbled to the dust; although as
a matter of fact no one noticed him
either favorably or unfavorably. His
heart warmed transiently as Bob, who
had not spoken to him since that Sun-
day, thrust a glowing face out of the
car-window as it passed the point
where Dawney sat, and yelled above
the turmoil: "So-long, Dawson ! See
you after the war !" — iDut it was with
loneliness and doubt knocking at his
heart that he later turned his team
into the long and starlit homeward trail.

Ten miles divided the Jenkins farm
and Oakburn; and they were ten
racking miles to Dawson. He turned
over all his past (as one might take
out an old copy-book and look in ic
for blots); and was half-comforted, al-
though a little puzzled, to find himself
unable to recall any incident that had
proved definitely he was a coward.
Was it cowardly to shrink from pain ?
Was a hero a person who could antici-
pate pain without that chilly sensation
at the temples and that electrical thrill
creeping upward from the soles of the
feet, that had followed Dawney's
reading of the passage from Kipling ?
Or was a hero merely a man who grew
automatically intoxicated in the face
of a threat (got "fighting-mad" all at
once, was the guise this idea took, in
the language of Dawney's thoughts)
and hence had no time to weigh pos-
sible eventualities ?

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Dawney reached home without hav-
ing decided whether he was a coward
or not — and the question was quite
chased out of his mind, for the time
being anyway, in the mad ride he had
immediately to take back again to
town for tlie doctor. His father had
had a "stroke," and had been uncon-
scious for over an hour.

In the mournful and grave responsi-
bility which devolved upon Dawney
with the death two days later of the
work-worn head of the Jenkins house-

hold, he had little time for study or
introspection.

He was so busy that he even forgot
to be concerned as to whether lie was
or was not a hero. He was so busy
that he almost forgot there was a war
and that he had turned down perhaps
the finest chance he would ever have
to get his name in the Oakburn paper.
For it was harvest-time in Wheat-
Land — the wonderful golden harvest-
time; and the wind of the war, with
its vast ill in other directions, blew

200

CANADA MONTHLY

That Lovely Complexion!

You need not despair of having a lovely
complexion like that of your friend's. The
daily use of "LA-ROLA" will give beauty
to your skin and attractiveness to your com-
plexion. "LA-ROLA" is a high grade cream
used by women and men. Very soothing,
Has a delicate perfume and is absolutely greaseless.
Protects the skin from the ravages of wind and frost,
keeping it soft and velvety. After a shave it
soothes and refreshcsjhe irritated skin.

[Call at your druggist's to-day and get a
bottle or order by phone.

In the Heart of Things

Canadians visiting New York will find that this hotel not only offers unsual accom-
modation but that practically everything worth while is right at hand— theatres, depart-
ment stores, the most exclusive shops of every kind, and various means of transportation.

THE

HOTEL MARTINIQUE

BROADWAY AND 32ND STREET

CHARLES LEIGH TAYLOR, President WALTER S. GILSON, Vice- President

WALTER CHANDLER. JR., Manager

Provides three sumptuous restaurants for the guests — the Louis XV. salon, the Cameo
Room and the Dutch Room. The most select music, singers from the Metropolitan
Opera House and a refined vaudeville entertainment provide cheerful settings for dinners
and suppers. Table d'hote dinner, $1.50. Club breakfast, 60c. Pleasant room and bath
$2.50 per day. For literature and reservations address [our Canadian advertising agents

SELLS LIMITED

SHAUGHNESSY BUILDING, . . . .

MONTREAL

tiARTSHORN

SHADE
ROLLERS

Fof f3 years this great invention has successfully withstood the attacks of all imitators,
because of origrinal merit and continuous improvement. Latest model requires no tacks.
Wood or tin rollers. The inventor's signature on every roller. Look for it. Take none without it.

.-i^&ij/a^^Hpl^'^^^-cn^y*^

IF YOU NEED MONEY HERE'S A JOB FOR YOU

That will develop into i good position if you are not afraid to worlc. We want folks with good, rich blood, with
determination, with happy dispositions and the "bound-to make-good-habit." A beginner ought to earn $20
a week. and. many of our representatives make double this amount. If you make good we won't let you go. If
you want, clean, honest, healthy, out-door work, write to-day. Address

AGENCY DEPT.. CANADA MONTHLY, TORONTO, ONT.

beneficently upon the farmer. Man
.does not live by bread alone; but
without bread he would be in sore cir-
cumstance indeed. Moreover the
agrarian, in the cereal Gibraltar of his
garden and his grainfield, with his
spick, clean dairy at hand and his fat
fowls and hogs and cattle around, can
snap his fingers at "financial strin-
gency" and kindred evils of war. He
has all the elements in the dietary
right on his own~ land and in his own
barnyard, and is sure of a taVjle well-
spread whether his credit at the village
grocery store is "good" or otherwise.

So, although Dawney as head of the
family. and heir to the Jenkins assets
and liabilities was not long in learning
that only the interest on the mortgage
had been paid for several seasons, he
did not commence worrying. He
thrust his thumbs under his braces,
looked across the splendid yellow
acreage billowing away from the farm-
house door and saw many times the
amount of the interest and the harvest
wages of Jim Dover, the hired man,
in the million spiked heads and awns
that nodded under the auspicious
August sky. The crop would pay the
machinery notes and current debts:
the cows, the potato-hills and the fat
porkers would do the rest.

As Dawney, in the arduous days
that followed, sat on his binder-seat,
with the pitman-wheel roaring its
iron tune and the grain-stalks falling
on the table-canvas below, he found
that he had not altogether lost his
power to draw militant comparisons
from homely things. Those stalwart
stalks were sometimes to the whim-
sical eye of his visioning an invading
host. His binder was a terrific engine
of war, with which he laid them in
swaths and bound them to await his
pleasure. Many a day it was the old
Napoleonic Dawney who flourished
his whip, though half-amused at him-
self the while, and hummed with a vast
destructiveness along the van of a
countless army.

Meanwhile one Max Friesen, in his
town office, divided his time between
conning over certain fat bunches of
interest-bearing documents, zoned with
elastic, and reading with some chagrin
but with a certain grim confidence at
the back of it, the European war news
(such as it was !) retailed in the daily
newspapers. There were three stages
to Herr Friesen's treatment of a Can-
adian newspaper: First, a fierce
perusal, during which he turned the
pages so vengefully that when he
finished the sheets were a torn and
crumpled chaos; second, a cramming
of the mass into the waste-paper bas-
ket and a jamming of it to the ver>'
bottom thereof with his heavy boot-
heel; third, a plentiful expectoration
on it of tobacco-juice. These observe-

CANADA MONTHLY ADVERTISER

201

Get Real Tire Economy!

Motoring is two things — a pleasure and a
business. One might say it was used sixty
per cent, for entertainment and forty per
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No accident ever befel an automobile but
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what the tires had a say in that, too.

If you will drive fast,

If you w^ill make those sudden stops,

If the city will water asphalt.

If rain will make muddy roads ;

Why then — the possibility of skidding
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your tires. When you think of how to
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202

CANADA MONTHLY

Every

Tire

Trouble

Brings You Nearer to Buying Goodyears

Tire efficiency has become so pronounced a science, that
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Consistent Quality

Consistent quality has won for
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For Goodyears are well-balanced
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Every puncture suggests our
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ances over, he would reach a stron
hairy-hacked paw toward the elastic
b<junfl bundle of indentures, strip th
band off each in turn, and flick it ope
with a certain savage joy.

For it was a grave fact that most i
those mortgages were signed with plai
British 'names, and that Herr Ma
Friesen, if he continued careful to pu
down his window-blinds and not attra(
attention by his anti-British paroxysn-
held thus the incontestable legal whif
hand of many Britons. But nation
even those units of nations who presid
over institutions so prosaic as couri
of civil law, are touchy and sentiment,
in war-time; and Herr Friesen kne
well that if it became necessary t
appeal to the law for settlement i
any of those loan cases, it would t
more discreet to come as a Britis
citizen seeking his rights than as
German citizen seeking gratificatioi

So it was "God Save King George
with him by daylight, and whe
customers were calling; but in th
seclusion of his office, evenings, whe
his aboriginal bookkeeper and stem
grapher had gone for the day, it W£
"Hoch der Kaiser;" and in his drean
and over his morning coffee, whi
Canadian cocks crow in the fine Cai
adian morning, it was so; and so ri
less and unintermittently, until int
his Canadian office came a Canadia
man, with money or the securit
therefor in his Canadian breech(
pocket. Then, and not till then, di
Herr Max Friesen again transfer h
allegiance grudgingly and temporaril
to King George of Britain. And, i
patriotism cannot be its real self whe
exotic, and a patriot who can tram
plant his essential quality like a cal
bage is really no patriot at all, wh
can blame Herr Max ?

It maddened him, as his stout soli
body moved like a tractive tower alon
the street, cleaving its steady heav
May through the thickest crowd, \
hear these puny, feather-brained alier
about him declaim against the gres
Fatherland and even say saucy thing
about the Kaiser Himself; but Hci
Friesen would ha\e been no Teuton
he had not been able to mask the gree
guns of his wrath and patiently bid
his time. Many of the signatories c
those mortgages he held had bee
impro^ idently satisfied for several see
sons past to merely pay their interes
and let the principal "go." Usualh
this is just what the holder of th
mortgage wants (for one does not nee
to lose sleep o\er delayed payment c
principal when the security is goo
Canadian farm land); but Herr Fri(
sen, who was a militarist and a kaise
himself in all but opportunity, ha
that in his veins which told him. tha
these blatant and unthrifty wester
Canadians must be disciplined. 1

CANADA MONTHLY ADVERTISER

203

Excess Value In Abundance

The only ordinary thing about the 1915 Overland is the price.

In every other respect it is an extraordinary value.

The large tires — 34 inch x 4 inch — are unusual.

So is the convenient arrangement of the electric controls.

The switches are on the steering column— right where you want them.

There is a high tension magneto.

Many cars have only cheaper and ordinary battery systems, but
the Overland, like all the high priced cars, has the finest high tension
magneto.

To be sure, other cars probably have some of these features, but only
those cars which sell for very much more money.

In the Overland you get the latest things and best of everything at
an exceptionally moderate price.

Look up the Overland dea'er in your town. Catalogue on request.
Please address Department 3,

Overland ModH 80 T
Overland Model 80 R
Overland Model 80 Coupe

$1425 Overland Model 9,1 T

$1390 Overland Model 91 R

$2150 Six Cylinder Model 82

All prices f. o. b. Hamilton, Ont.

$1135
$1065
$1975

The Willys-Overland of Canada, Limited, Hamilton, Ont.

204

CANADA MONTHLY

Kill two birds with one stone and travel

via THE

CANADIAN ROCKIES

to the

PANAMA PACIFIC EXPOSITION

BANFF

LAKE LOUISE FIELD

GLACIER

Are important tourist stop-over points on the Canadian Pacific Railway
route to the Pacific Coast. These have excellent hotel accommodation,
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Agents will personally call on you to arrange your itinerary.
Write, phone or call on nearest C. P. R. Representative.

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«'!

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MINNEAPOLIS

Offers a cordial welcome and courteous service to all.

RATES

Rooms with Running Water - - $1.50 per day
Rooms with Toilet and Running Water $2.00 per day
Rooms with Bath and Toilet ...

$2.50, $3.00, $3.50, $4.00 per dav

galled him that he must go softly and
tactfully about this disciplining, when
he reached the stage of invoking the
law; but the attainment of his pur-
[jose was, after all, the main thing, —
not the manner of the attainment.
There was more about him of Prince
Hismarck than of Wilhelm II.

But, though he must keep up this
farce of Canadian citizenship and all
legiance to avoid the handicap of
judicial prejudice, he could at least
take to himself the satisfaction of being
his own collector. In his own "blood
and iron" presence, and under the
imperious fire of his own ruthless
Teutonic eye, would these farmers face
the alternative of full back payments
or immediate foreclosure.

So, in the apt season of stubble and
winnowing, Herr Friesen installed his
brother Peter in the swivel-chair by
the desk of his town office and himself
took a ticket, with stopover privileges
at all points, to the yellow west.

It takes an old farmer, with years of
experience, to estimate the return
from a standing crop; and Dawney,
although the season's yield was fairly
good, found out on casting up the pro-
ceeds of his grain-checks that, when
his cash was distributed fairly over
current debts, it would leave for his
mortgage payment so little above the
amount of the interest, that his most
convenient plan would be to let the
principal "go" again this season, as
his father had been in the habit of
doing, and merely pay the interest.
Then, next year, he would break some
more land on the pre-emption, put in
a larger crop, and forthwith start
wiping off the Jenkins land debt. So
he and his mother sat up late one night,
hammering out a sagacious little note
to accompany his money order in favor
of the Friesen Loan and Mortgage
Company. They finished it just on
the stroke of midnight, copied it out
neatly on a fresh sheet of notepaper,
sealed up the letter, and placed it
behind the clock, ready for Jim Dover
to take with him and mail when he
drove to Oakbum with the plough-
share next morning.

Bugg>'-wheels on a country trail
where the. dust lies thick, travel with a
sound infinitely soft; and the footbfall
of a horse on that soft gray dust-
cushion is no more to be heard than
the impact of water-drops on wool.
So Dawney came out of the Jenkins
stable next day before breakfast,
having groomed and harnessed his
team ready for the morning's work,
without having received any auditory-
hint of the approach of the Oakbum
livery rig which he now saw standing
outside the farmhouse door. "Steady"
Cornwall, the sheik of Cornwall's
Livery, occupied the rain-washed
leather cushion under the buggy-top.

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CANADA MONTHLY

" 'Day, Steady," said Dawney, as
he slapped the nigh horse sociably on
the belly and stopped for the little
chat without which two never pass in
Wheat-Land. "Out o' bed early this
morning, eh ? What's th' excite-
ment ?"

Dawney looked mature and respon-
sible, now that he was the head and
mainstay of the Jenkins household.
He had broadened out, too, during
that summer season, and was as well-
set-up a young Canadian as one might
see thereabout.

"What's up ?" he said again.
"Invasion of the Germans," said
"Steady," shutting one eye. "The
Kaiser's got me hired for all of to-
day."

"Aw, talk sense," invited Dawney.
"Well, that's right," said "Steady,"
reaching into his pocket for tobacco
and blowing his old quid down into
the ragweed between the buggy-wheels.
"He's makin' a trip with me around
this district. He ain't said much; but
from some quest-ons he ast me, I
figure he's goin' to make yous fellows
rustle some money for Germany's war
debt."

"I got to be goin'. Steady, I guess,"
said Dawney, dryly; "you make me
hungry." He took his foot of! the
hub and went leisurely on to the house.
The door stood partially open; and
as Dawney crossed the chip-pile, he
pricked up his ears at a voice coming
therequt — a voice that grated and
rumbled by turns, like a howitzer
drawn over harsh ground.

There is in the Old World (not alone
in much-decried Germany, but in just
and equitable old Britain itself) a less
exaggerated sense of the importance of
womankind than appears common in
North America. It is therefore to be
conceded that Herr Friesen, in pre-
senting the mortgage situation some-
what strongly and rudely to Dawney's
mother, was not to his own knowledge
doing anything much out of the
ordinary. Besides, most western
women have as a matter of fact been a
little spoiled by over-consideration
and are apt to be somewhat short with
the collector who is only after his just
dues; and there is no denying that
Mrs. Jenkins had received Herr Frie-
sen's cold but moderate first advances
with a highly untactful sharpness and
loftiness. She was a little, quick-
moving, hard-working, brown-eyed
woman, with a wonderful tongue.

Herr Max Friesen had a heavy still
face, of an excellent ruddiness at the
cheek-bones, and two eyes that looked
out unwinkingly and filled with a slow
fire as he talked. His back and
shoulders from the door looked ele-
phantine, and the snap of his finger-
nail on the paper he held was like the
crack of a whip. Mrs. Jenkins was

206

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206

CANADA MONTHLY

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standing back in a comer, with her
two hands resting on her bnxjm-handle,
looking for all the world as though she
were about to use it as a weapon.

The attitude of the two misled
Dawney. Herr F"riesen had merely
apjjroached close because it was an
impressive German habit of his to
stand immediately over and to frown
down ujKjn those whom he interviewed,
for the sake of the autocratic eflfeCt it
had; but to Dawney it appeared as
though this big invader with the
thunderous Teutonic growl had backed
his mother into a corner and was
actually preparing to strike her.

He crossed the room in two hops
and flung his muscular young weight
upon the intruder so zealously and
unexpectedly that Herr Friesen, big
as he was, toppled and fell backward
into a most undignified sitting position
on the floor.

"Now," said Dawney, standing over
him with sparkling eyes and fists hard-
clenched, "what d'you mean by it, eh ?
What d'you mean by squarin' up to
my mother like that ? Who are you,
anyway ?"

Herr Friesen climbed to his feet,
dusted himself off' slowly, and stared
at Dawney with his pupils contracted
to little glittering points of wrathful
interrogation. He made a threatening
step forward. Dawney, all in a pugna-
cious glow, raised his guard and oscil-
lated, his right fist eagerly, choosing a
point to strike. But suddenly Herr
Freisen drew himself up and laughed, —
a great earthquake of a guffaw that
shook the plates on the shelf.

"So," he said presently, pulling his
face into gravity with an effort, "you
declare war on Cicrmanj'. Ho ! ho .'
ho!"

"I give you one minute to get out o'
here," jerked out Dawney, "You needn't
to think you're goin' to come bullyin'
my mother, an' then make a joke out
of it. No sirree !"

"All the same," returned Herr Max,
imperturably, "it is a joke, mein boy.
It is one big joke. I was not about to
hit the little mother."

"No, no," said Mrs. Jenkins, laying
her hand on the arm of the excited
Dawney, "he was just talking about
the mortgage. He says he wants his
money."

Dawney's fists unclenched and fell
by slow stages to his sides. "Are you
the man that holds the mortgage on
our place ?" he enquired, a little
diffidently.

Herr Friesen bowed, coldly and
gravely, but with a certain twinkle in
his eyes.

"Well, I — well, we — ," Dawney be-
gan, haltingly, "we was only figurin'
on the — the interest, like — "

"And supposing," Herr Max inter-
rupted, suddenly, "I ask for one thou-

CANADA MONTHLY

207

sand dollars, at once. It is my right.

, Shall I not then get it, boy ?"

j Dawney rubbed his head. "I guess

' we could hustle it for you," he said

slowly, "but it would pinch us quite a

bit, as things is."

Herr Friesen, who seemed to be a
man of quick, startling movements
and queries, stepped forward with one
sweeping stride, and stood over Daw-
ney, his brows gathered in a kaiser-like
frown.

"Look !" he said, measuring Daw-
ney's shoulders with his hands and
then placing his palms back against
his own great shoulder-muscles, "I
am wider than you, two span almost.
I am higher than you, five inches.
Yet you come upon me — from the
back, so that I do not see you — and
you pull me, a gentleman of Germany,
from my feet on the floor down. What
shall I say to that ?"

"Well," said Dawney, apologetically,
"1 thought you was goin' to hurt my
mother."

"Nevertheless," said Herr Friesen,
stripping off his coat with a deliberate
movement, and turning back his shirt-
cuffs from two great hairy wrists
scarred with old fencing-wounds, "for
what you have done, I shall now
satisfaction demand. You shall have
your wish, stripling. You shall now
fight me — in the British way, with the
shut hands !"

Dawney's first sensation at this
challenge made him stare and swallow.
Then it was as if one-half of him stood
away, watching the other half as
anxiously as ever Spartan father
watched Spartan son before a first
battle. Would his heart — now that
the sustaining filial impulse was gone —
turn to water, and his knees knock
together ? Would he waver before
this Goliath ? True, he had "squared
up" to him before; but it is far, far
easier to give a challenge than to
accept one. Would he falter ? Was
he a coward ?

For a moment, he had no reassuring
sensation; and the sweat of appre-
hension broke out in small beads on
Dawney's brow.

Then — then, with a joyful thrill
and tingling in all his limbs; with a
bracing warmth that, kindling in his
heart like a coal fanned into flame,
spread over him in swift glad radiation,
till his cheeks glowed and his pulse
raced and his brain swam in a kind of
hot ether — Dawney Jenkins, dreamer
and peace-lover, but child of a race
of warriors and patriots, felt the spirit
of intrepidity get upon its feet and
dance within him.

"Yes !" he cried, with his cheeks
reddening and his eyes sparkling,
"I'll fight — an' I'll give you what's
comin' to you, too !" He tore off his
smock, whacked it down on the tool-

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chest, and turned to face the big Ger-
man with his fists ready.

But Herrr Friesen did not advance
upon him. The imperial frown, after
a struggle, gave place to the smile it
had been the means of concealing.
Herr Max, with another of his brisk
movements, turned to the table, drew
an oblong document from the pocket
of his coat, glanced at it, and thrust
it into Dawney's hands.

"There, take it," he said, his voice
sunken to the deep bass that goes most

appropriately with an exhibition of
magnanimity. "You the tongue of
these contemptible British speak; but
you have the spirit of a man withal .
You take off your coat to fight with
me; and, Donner und Blitzen, I could
eat you !"

"Like hell you could," Dawney
blurted, still glowing.

"Well," said Herr Friesen, clapping
the boy on the back with a thunder-
bolt palm, "we will, as you would say,
'let it go at that.' I your mortgage

208

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CANADA MONTHLY

give back to you, see — the token of a
gentleman of Germany."

Dawney's feelings, as Herr Friesen
turned apruptly on his heel and left
him with the indenture comfortably
enclasped in his right palm, were
beyond analysis. The big German
stopped, with his toe on the iron step
of the livery rig, and turning, caught
again the eye of the Canadian boy.
His big hand, the fingers held as though
grasping the spindle of a goblet, shot
suggestively above his head.

"Hock der Kaiser !" he roared, his
eyes twinkling.

"Not by a dam' sight," shouted
Dawney, grinning back, "God save
King George !"

The rig drove away. Dawney's
mother took the envelope, broke it
open eagerly, and scanned the stiff
double sheet.

"That's it, sonny," she cried, "that's
it ! Here's your Pa's name on It, see.
Well, he's a German; but it's a poor
country where they can't raise some
good ones, isn't it ? Just think of the
place clear at last 1 I wish your poor
father was here to see this !"

But Dawney, still standing half-
dizzily on the step, hardly even h^ard
his mother's exclamations. His
thoughts were far from mortgages.
No Cortez, silent upon a peak in Darien
ever stood in a balmier atmosphere of
rapture than Dawson Jenkins; as,
with the rattle of the Friesen equipage
dying away in his ears and that
delicious intrepid tingle still busking
him, singing to him Hke matial music,
he stood, pressing against his mental
palate the orange of the discovery he
had made — that he was alive, unen-
listed, and yet not a coward. Had he
not declared war upon Germany, and
won- — without striking a blow. Was
he not, now and consciously, possessed
by a feeling under the sustenance of
which he could have grinned, with a
dozen bullets in his spleen !

A theatrical advance agent, forced
to lay over at a small junction point,
was talking with the landlord of the
village inn. "Do you ever have any
shows here ?" he asked.

"Wal — I reckon we do !" said the
landlord. "Some of the best shows
from New York play here."

"Is that so ?" said the agent. "What
was the last one that played this town?' '

"I don't rightly remember the
name," returned the hotel man; "but
my wife, she knows. I'll call and ask
her."

Going to the foot of the stairs, he
called loudly:

"Mar thy — Mar thy — look in that
back room and tell me the names on
them there trunks !"

IfflllBt

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Aiitexeiiia.,

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CANADA
MONTHLY

■uiBiDiiJiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiraoiDiiii

Canada
and the Drama

HOW LONG WILL OUR GREAT DOMINION REMAIN

DIVORCED FROM DRAMATIC CONSCIOUSNESS ? WHEN

WILL CANADIAN ACTORS PLAY CANADIAN PRODUCTIONS IN

CANADIAN THEATRES ? WHY NOT NOW ? THESE ARE SOME OF THE

QUESTIONS MR. STRINGER ANSWERS IN THIS INTERESTING ARTICLE

By Arthur Stringer

Author of "The Woman vk the Rain,'" "The Wire Tappers," etc. *

WILL you see the players well bestowed ?" demanded
Hamlet of the pig-headed old Polonius who was
amazedly blinking at the absurdity of an actor
weeping over his part. "Do you hear, let them be well
used, for they are the abstract and brief chronicles of the
time !"

Hamlet was right. He was right in the face of the fact
that this same pig-headed old materialist had no inkling
of what his mad young friend was driving at. He only
knew that he was being scolded, the same as Canada was
scolded when Robert Barr announced that this country of
ours spent considerably less money on literature than it
did on Scotch whiskey.

But Hamlet was right. The dramatist is, and always
has Ijeen, peculiarly the voice of his age. The noblest and
at the same time the truest expression of all national life
has been through the drama. Era by era, from Euripides to
Rostand, the great countries of this earth have articu-
lated their greatness through the mimic world of the stage.
From Sophocles to Sardou, the drama, holding the mirror
up to nature and immortalizing in Art the thoughts and
aspirations of the moment, has rendered the final verdict
as to the rating of any given civilization. And it is Eng-
land, we must remember, that can justly claim the suprem-
est voice in all dramatic composition. Her Will of Avon
stands unrivalled and unapproached. The creator oi
Hamlet has no equal: that much even the Germans will
admit.

YET there is one other fact which we must remember.
And with that memory must come down our last
ensign of national pride. Canada has no drama.
< )ur great Dominion, flung from sea to sea, with a national
life as abounding in vigor as it is distinctive in character,
with the stamp of bigness on both its accomplishments and
its potentialities, is without a stage of its own, is without
a school of dramatists, and is without even so much as a
tradition of criticism. Canada has not one actor or actress
of its own. Nor has it one dramatic composition in any
way expressive of its wider issues of existence. Nor has it

CotyrithI, 1915. by the VANDERHOOP-CUNN

a tatter of true comedy or tragedy in any way representa-
tive of its social conditions. In other words, Canada is
the only nation in the world whose stage is entirely and
arbitrarily controlled by aliens. It is the only country of
continental dimensions that depends on foreigners for that
spiritual refreshment and inspiration which may and must
be derived from theatric entertainment. And it seems the
only country that, having achieved political independence,
is content to stand divorced from dramatic consciousness.

Not that Canada is without interest in the drama. Over
four million dollars' worth of new theatres were built in this
country during the three years that ended with 191 L
From 1911 to the end of 1913, it has been publicly an-
nounced, the sum of seven million dollars was spent for
the same purpose. During the present season a provincial
English company playing repertory in the mushroom city
of Calgary (although headed, it must be acknowledged, by
a London star of undoubted ability) is able to boast of
weekly receipts exceeding twelve thousand dollars. Van-
couver, the fourth city in the Dominion, is the proud
possessor of no less than seven theatres. And in one sea-
son the city of Toronto, it has been conservatively esti-
mated, spends one and one-half million dollars in theatrical
amusement.

But we now approach the remarkable phase of this
somewhat remarkable situation. Canada, it is true, spends
its money lavishly enough on the theatre, and the Canadian
city is as ready to profiler housing to the itinerant apostles
of Thespis as is the rural town to lend a vacant lot for the
tented glories of the visiting circus. But in the creation
and control of that will-o-the-wisp chain of spectacles which
flit like a stream of Halley's comets across its horizon, it
has no voice and no influence. Its plays are sent to it by
unseen powers, doubtless beneficent, but at times inscrut-
able in their ministrations. At the door of the Canadian
city, drama is dumped ready-made; and it must take what
is given or go hungry. In the offices of kindhearted Heb-
raic gentlemen along that far-off canyon of noise and vul-
garity known to The Profession as "Broadway" are manipu-

COMP ANY, LIMITED. All rithtt rumei. 217

218

lated the strings of Canadian dra-
matic destiny. From the theatrical
standpoint, our Dominion is a mere
appendage of New York. And some-
times, from the metropolitan stand-
point, the most that it can be called
is an appendicle.

It may be claimed, of course, that
to be taken in arms by its older and
wealthier neighbor is a matter of much
luck for Canada. It is the luck of the
youth so perfect in figure that he is
never ill-commoded by the fit of the
ready-made hand-me-down. Among
other things, it saves money. The
machinery for the exploitation of
dramatic effort is a costly one. Then,
too, co-operation and combination of
interests is an undeniable tendency of
the times. And under such circum-
stances it is well that "Broadway"
should stand as a Clearing House lor
all theatrical organizations, weed out
the incompetents, and duly distribute
those which have won the seal of
popular approval. For in a country
of vast distances and sparse population,
engrossed in the making of homes and
towns and still oppressed with many
of the burdens that obtain with pioneer
conditions, it is indeed a fine thing to
have sent from city to city well-trained
companies and well-equipped pro-
ductions, with the glitter of their
metropolitan organization all about
them, coruscating with the names of
those stars who swim into our ken
with the newest modes on their backs
and the newest songs and slang on the
tips of their tongues. It is a fine thing
to have these big names and bigger
companies swing into your city, and
cater to your wishes, and swing out
again overnight, demanding nothing
but a few bits for an orchestra-seat
and recognition of the fact that the
ladies of the chorus, having crossed
the Line, are now considerately wav-
ing the Union Jack, at the grand finale,
in lieu of the Stars and Stripes.

It is a fine thing, but like all fine
things that come too cheap, it has its
flaws. Canada has no greater and
closer friend than the United States.
But the Winter Garden is not Columbia
and that portion of Broadway which
lies between Herald Square and Long-
, acre of the Electric Signs is not all the
Republic. Then, too, the drama is
something more than a business. It
is an Art, the one Art, notwithstand-
ing what its noisier practitioners have
done to it, that has remained expres-
sive of nationality. And to have an
Art such as this administered from
either foreign soil or foreign sky-scraper-
offices is not good for any country.
In the first place, such a condition
carries with it the invariable tendency
to Americanize public sentiment.
There is the equally constant practise
of cramming down Canadian throats a

CANADA MONTHLY

type of character with which the
Canadian does not racially sympathize,
and of parading before him traits and
tendencies to which he is fundamentally
opposed. He may dream that he is
ignoring ^hem, the same as he ignores
the superlative Italian labels on his
olive-oil bottles, but the mere tolera-
tion of un-Canadian sentiments and
the mere endurance of ideals that are
exotic is not without its insidious
results. It involves the continuous
danger of denationalization. It alien-
ates us from an Art in which we should
be intimately and personally inter-
ested. It develops a country-wide
parasitism which leaves us invertebrate
and passive in the most vital of cul-
tural issues. It coerces us into the
acceptance and encouragement of a
literary product whose failure or suc-
cess is determined by the critics and
audiences of a country which is not
our own, and a country, furthermore,
astutely manipulated by the centraliz-
ed and none too scrupulous interests
of that motley aggregation of managers
known as "Broadway." And since it
comes to us ready-made, and not fitted
to our tastes and our needs, we face
the choice of adapting ourselves to its
general tenor or going without theatri-
cal amusement. To the enterprising
Syndicate of New York, and to its
equally enterprising rivals captained
by the Shuberts, the territory that lies
between the Rio Grande ancj the
Saskatchewan is one and only one
united democracy of Art roughly
known as "The Road." Our provinces
are parcelled out like so many states,
and while self-aggrandizement may be
one of the functions of the theatre on
strictly home territory, it is not adding
to the richness of Canadian national
life when the children of the maple
leaf sit in patient silence through those
patriotic passages which the American
audiences naturally enough can swallow
whole and a George M. Cohan can so
unctuously festoon with that glad Old
Rag yclept the Stars and Stripes !
We share with the United States many
of the social and economic problems of
the century. We speak the same lan-
guage, and in our relationship there ex-
ists a camaraderie unknown between an\-
of the powers of the Old World. But
Canada is Canada, and our flag is not
the flag of the United States of America.
Yet theatrically we are a colony of
those states; We are in a position ot
subservience to them. This was never
so forcibly brought home to me as
when a Toronto author, who had writ-
ten a really excellent war-drama deal-
ing with the Wolfe and Montcalm con-
flict at Quebec, explained that Frohman
had agreed to accept his play on con-
dition that he give it an American set-
ting and revamp it into a war-drama
of the Revolution. That Toronto

author (when not toiling at his desk
as a newspaper editor) had written
many plays and spent many laborious
nights in his efforts to master the
technique of the drama. But he has
not yet known a single production.
And the chances are ten to one that
he never will know a production- — for
he was narrow-minded enough not to
jump at the chance ot switching over-
night the Plains of Abraham for the
sisterly slopes of Bull Run. That
Toronto author, who declined to sell
his birthright for a mess ot box-office
pottage, (and probably feels a bit s^rry
that he couldn't) wants to be a dra-
matist and at the same time he insists
on being a Canadian — which is both
an absurdity and an impossibility.
Before he can be identified with the
stage on this continent he must first
denature all his primal impulses of
patriotism. He must de-Canadianize
himself, as every actor and actress
and playwright who happened to be
bom north of the Great Lakes has
been compelled to do.

There have been both play-actors
and play-writers bom in Canada, it is
true, yet the only benefit which either
they or Canada derive from this e\ent
seems to be the lubrications of the
duly-posted ad\'ance-agent, who gets
free advertising by periodically loading
up the local press with what is known
in the vernacular as "Old-Boy Guff."
The phrase is inelegant, but not half
so much so as the practise. One road
actor, it might even be mentioned in
passing, has been bom in no less than
seven different towns in Ontario.
Season by season this astute man ot
business, emulating Homer himself,
duly honors each of his natal towns
with a professional \-isit, gives out
interviews on his boyhood life, and
after dilating on the old Swimming-
Hole down by the big buttonwood
and counting up the gate-receipts in
Canadian silver, almost forgets that
he really emanates from the East Side
of New York and possesses a working
knowledge of Yiddish ! If May Irwin
and Henry Miller and Margaret Anglin
and Edgar Selwyn and James Forbes
and Viola Allen and Ernest Shipman
and William Courtleigh and IVIarie
Dressier all happened to be bom on
Canadian soil, they swarmed from
their native countr\" very much as-
rats are said to swarm from a sinking
vessel. To-day, either as actors or as
dramatists, they are contributing
nothing whatever to the distinctive
culture of the country which gave-
them birth. The only time they seem
to remember that country' is when
their route-list takes them across its-
border. One member of this company
publicly wrote to a N«w York publica-
tion announcing that he was touring;
Continued on page 259.

The Voice of One Crying

By James Church Alvord

Illustrated by Charles Dean Cornwell

^H— Oh— Oh-0-0-0"
The sun was setting- behind
Look-off mountain. A riot
of scarlet flared across the
horizon, melting into a primrose glow
in the East. The gaunt crest smudged
up against the dazzle, purpling through
a hundred shades, transfigured at its
top into violet edged with gold. Far
below the wide plain was stolidly white
with snow, but the black water of
Minos Basin caught glints and flashes
, from that gaudy sunset. Out of the
whiteness farm-houses and church-
spires pricked splashes of ink. The
world was very cold and very magnifi-
cent. On the flanks of the mountain
a girl walked alone.
"Oh— Oh— 0-0-0,— "
Jedidah Tillotson stopped her
scurry. Her face quivered, her body
livered with fear; yet something in
jler Nova Scotia soul steadied her.
Her long inheritance from Puritanism
bid her hsten to that human cry for
help out of the white silence. Yet
she had lived but one year on Look-ofI
mountain and was horribly afraid.

Suddenly another sound whiffed
down the wind : the scudding feet of a
horse. Twitching her skirts this way
and that she crept into the brambles
beside the road. The girl thrilled
with panic. Then with a flash of iron
against a stray flint in the road, a
,cast-up sprinkle of icy particles, a
liorse with wide-swinging stirrups
^flashed past her hiding place, flung
himself downward towards the village
below. In a moment the rumble ot
his flight dimmed in the distance.

The girl crept out from her bushes,
hesitated, gazing up the road, down
the road — then tottered after the
terrified animal, villageward. She
was more panic-stricken than he. ,

For a rod or more she fled. Then a
jerk came into her speed — she faltered
— turned abruptly around. With
flushed girlish face she barkened.
Not a sound came. So, sturdily she
began to trudge back along the lone-
some road she had come. The line of
gold died off its violet crest, the wilder-
ness turned ashen, the dark waters of
the Basin lost every flash. Only the
snapping of a frozen twig, the tumble
of snow loosened by the day's sunshine,
spluttered through the quiet. On
she plunged, shaking with every step-
up the long slope — over into the dip
beyond.

A boy lay across the rude bridge
which spans a brook. He seemed to
the girl extraordinarily beautiful, his
golden curls glimmering in the softened
light, his blue eyes staring, his slim

HER MOTHER SNEERED GRIMl.Y. "STOP MOONING
OVER A HANDSOME FACE, SILLY

figure huddled against the snow. A
wound jagged above one eye. His
jacket, crumpled up beneath his arms,
a fluff of frost on his curls, proved that
he had been dragged after being thrown.
He did not move. He did not even
groan. Leaping at him Jedidah caught
him into her lap and began to splash
his face with handfuls of snow.

He moaned at last, attempted to sit
up; then slumped back into a second
swoon. A moment later a shiver
shook his body, almost a convulsion.
Again he attempted to rise, gropingly.
Realizing the presence of the girl he
stifled down his cry.

"I fell," he stuttered, "the horse
slipped." He blinked around, "I must

go — I — I — I must see her — see her
right away."

He tried his right foot on the ground
gingerly. Jedidah caught him with a
swift tenderness as the pallor flashed
back into his face.

The sky was as gray as farmhouse
shingles when the two set off down the
road. The windows of the scattered
upland homes alone blazed like factory
furnaces under the refraction of some
invisible light. The boy half-hobbled,
half-was-dragged , leaning against the
girl. His arm clasped her shoulders,
his hot breath palpitated against her
uncovered neck. She had never been
so embraced by a man. He mumbled
thanking her. Once she stopped to
unloose his shoe and rub the swollen
ankle with the snow. The flesh puffed
instantly. She could not draw on the
shoe again.

"I must see her — must see her — "
he mumbled and limped wretchedly on.
All the woman in her welled towards
him.

Half-a-mile from the village he col-
lapsed and she was forced to hitch
herself between his arms, dragging
him across the crust as though he were
a sledge. It was thus that Jud Slocum
came upon them, laughed, yanked the
boy up between his lusty arms, drop-
ping him at length down on the Widow
Tillotson's best bed in her best room.
"Gee," sniffed Jud, "I'd a carried
th' critter five mile. He's that light."
He stripped the insensible youngster.
When the poor fellow slipped back
from the land of dreams to the .land of
facts he sprang up in bed.

"I must go," he babbled. "I must
see her — " He shrank back at the
sight of two strange women.

Mrs. Tillotson fluttered over,
motherhood in arms. "Lie back in
the bed. Laddie !" she cooed, "Doctor'll
be here in a minute."

"Laddie?" he tossed it back at her
in high dudgeon, "What do you know
about that ? I'm twenty-five and
I've a man's job on hand — Laddie !"
A naked foot dropped out from be-
tween the sheets and flashed the color
into Jedidah's cheeks. The older
woman laughed outright.
"You can't," she temporized.
His eyes danced up at her. "Cant's
dead. Will is up and kicking."
"Kicking ? — not with that foot."
His face radiant in the candle flutter
was vibrant with an unchanged nur-

319

220

pose. "O, please — " he begged,
"I must go. On my own horse,
if he's to be found; on another
if he's flown for good." He
stretched the ,wrenched foot to
the floor, trying his weight upon
it cautiously; but Jedidah swept
across the room at the sight of
his sick pallor.

"Perhaps we can carry the
message," her voice fluted like
a bob-o'- link's in June. "There
are nine houses and six horses in
Scrabble Hollow; something can
be found."

"There's a girl I must see,"
he answered, "a girl of Sqrabble
Hollow. Perhaps she'll come to
me." His eyes glinted with hope.

"Who is she?" the face
drooped over him tenderly.

"Jedidah Tillotson."

There fell a dull silence into
the room. The girl incarna-
dined painfully, the blood gushed
over her face in spurts. She
guessed his errand at once. But
the look of the other hardened.
She still wore her smile of
motherliness but it turned wood-
en. She sat in her low rocker
her mouth petrified into the
curves of some stolid, painted,
smirking manikin propped up
in a shop-window to hang clothes
on. She lost for the nonce all
humanitySn the ugliness of that
grimace.

The boy turned from one to one
as if astounded that they didn't ^

know. "Why," he cried, "she
must be here. She's lived here
over a year now. Her father was the
preacher over at Wolfboro, the Pres-
byterian parson."

The older woman allowed the smile
to ooze from her lips. "You can't
see Miss Tillotson;" she explained
patiently, "she went of? to visit her
grandmother last week." The min-
ister's widow was keeping within the
strict grounds of the literal truth —
and lying brutally as she did so.

He sat up with a jerk and his face,
twisting from one "to the other, strug-
gled to plumb the mystery of their
changed aspect. "When will she re-
turn ?" he demanded.

"Those Tillotsonsare awfully close-
mouthed;" croaked the widow, "no-
body knows their business." A prank-
ish malignity glittered in her eyes.

The lad saw it and misinterpreted it.
In his turn he blushed cruelly. "Yes,"
he confessed, "you've guessed right —
I'm Jack Gait's brother. I'm Ben.
But you needn't draw back so; I'm
clean. I don't see why I shouldn't
say I'm clean, if I am. Jack went
wild. Did you know his wife — Mary
Tillotson ?"

CANADA MONTHLY

^C*'^^;^^^^

: HITCHED HERSELF BETWEEN HIS ARMS AND DRAGGED HIM .
THOUGH HE WERE A SLEDGE

"Yes, we knew her well," the girl
nodded.

The boy's voice rose unashamed.
"Jack didn't kill Mary Tillotson," he
affirmed. "Jack may be bad; but he
isn't the murdering kind." He faced
the two women defiantly and for a
moment even the grim mother shivered
under the fierceness of his regard.
Gray ashes were no more like fire than
she like womanhood in that dour
moment.

"I was flat on my back during the
trial," the young voice went on^ —
"typhoid. I only sniffed out-of-door's
air six weeks ago. Mother's dead.
Mother's name was Annie; that
means gentle. Father's name isn't
Annie though." He sniffed amusedly
at the well-worn family joke, despite
his rush. "Father said, 'Let him die
the death' — so did Fred and Wilfred
and Jonas. But I — I guess my name
is Annie; for I've come down to nose
things out. Jack doesn't know what
happened ; for Jedidah found her first,
all alone in that lonesome farmhouse.
Jedidah knows — knows that Jack
didn't shoot Mary. She swore on the

stand that Mary left no word;
but Jack watched her face as
she swore. So he knows she knows.
I must see her — I must beg her
on my knees to tell — I've got
testimonials any way for the Min-
ister of Justice. He's here, here
in Wolfboro, only he leaves to-
morrow for Boston. I must get
those testimonials to him. They're
rippin'." He flung the bed-
clothes from him bounding out
upon the floor. "It's late — late!
Jack dies to-morrow night."

Jedidah caught him. Her
mother sat stonily by, that ma-
lign glint quivering beneath her
lids. "You mustn't," protested
the girl and in fact he was faint
with pain, "I'll find somebody to
send. Leave it to me." She
tucked him in again with deft
touches and her mind was far
away from Mar>' and her dim
tragedy. The boy was hers, she
had snatched him from the very
jaws of the valley of the shadow
of death — hers — hers — hers. "I
can get Jud," she began.

"Daughter!" boomed out the
Widow Tillotson, her voice was
as crass as a No'easter rumbling
over Look-ofT top.

"The papers are useless any-
way," Jedidah hurried on intent
to stop her mother from further
outbreak. "Women testified that
way at the trial, dozens of 'em.
Women always will for a hand-
some fellow. They look and
then they leap — for the witness
stand. Mother says so anyhow."
She dropped her eyes to his face and
decided that this Gait was the hand-
somer of the two. Of her mother she
was not afraid. She knew that her
mother always overestimated the weak-
ness of her character. Her father had
been adored by his parish and run by
his wife, so Mrs. Tillotson was incapa-
ble of comprehending the drop of her
own blood inside this gentle re-incar-
nation of her husband she owned as
daughter. But the iviest kind of an
ivy vine can grow a trunk that's
stiff.

When the girl returned from her
search the Doctor was ah-ah-ing over
the patient, spattering about those
polysyllabic phrases with which phy-
sicians delight to mystify ordinary
facts and mortals. It was a wicked
sprain and wouldn't heal for weeks.

"It's sixteen miles to Wolfsboro, a
bitter night and the last train gone,"
she leaned over the bed-foot stating
her discoveries, "but Jud will make the
drive, catch the train that comes along
after midnight, see the Minister at the
Halifax Station — "

"But will Jud be certain to do it

CANADA MONTHLY

221

right ? I must go— foot or no foot —
I must go myself. I — "

"Rank nonsense," roared the